


An Offering For Sin

by Varkelton



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood Drinking, Bloodplay, Dark, Dubious Consent, Knifeplay, M/M, Non Consensual, Psychological Trauma, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-23
Updated: 2009-11-22
Packaged: 2017-10-18 07:42:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 33,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/186543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varkelton/pseuds/Varkelton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Realizing that he's been played, Sam manages to make a last ditch attempt to stop the apocalypse. Relieved and proud and fighting to heal the damage of the past months, Dean gets them out of the church and on the road. Hurt and reeling, they try to find their way back to each other, but are secrets and the remnants of miscommunication and betrayal really all they have to contend with?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. An Offering For Sin - Part One

**Author's Note:**

> _**An Offering For Sin**_  
>  By [](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/profile)[**varkelton**](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/)  
>  © 7/29/09
> 
>   
> _Art by raggedy_edge_   
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> **Artists:** [](http://musingdarkly.livejournal.com/profile)[**musingdarkly**](http://musingdarkly.livejournal.com/) and [](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/profile)[**raggedy_edge**](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/)  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Pairing/Characters:** Sam/Dean, Castiel  
>  **Word Count:** ~33,500  
>  **Warnings aka Enticements:** Blood-play, knife-play, violence, torture, D/s, mild breath-play, a little spanking, mind-fuck, physical abuse, pain-kink, first-time sex, masturbation, orgasm denial, claiming, marking, rimming, barebacking, hurt/comfort, dub-con, non-con (outside POV), darkfic - oh yeah, and a healthy helping of angst. My favorite! Plus a couple more things I’m leaving off the list because they’re spoilery, and if you’re good with this list, you’ll be okay with them too. But if you really, really need to know, drop me an e-mail and I’ll be happy to discuss.  
>  **Disclaimer:** Do you suppose if I asked sweetly, the boys would give themselves to me? Yeah, I know, not after they read my stories. _Darn!_ Labor of love. No profit.  
>  **Betas:** [](http://snarkgoddess.livejournal.com/profile)[**snarkgoddess**](http://snarkgoddess.livejournal.com/) , [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/profile)[**raggedy_edge**](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/)
> 
>  **Summary:** Realizing that he's been played, Sam manages to make a last ditch attempt to stop the apocalypse. Relieved and proud and fighting to heal the damage of the past months, Dean gets them out of the church and on the road. Hurt and reeling, they try to find their way back to each other, but are secrets and the remnants of miscommunication and betrayal really all they have to contend with?
> 
>  **AN:** Starts immediately at the end of Season Four (Lucifer Rising). It goes AU after that, although I have borrowed some of the plot elements and a little bit of dialog from the first part of Season Five, at least where I could. No spoilers for anything unaired.
> 
>  **Written for:[](http://kink-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[ **kink_bigbang**](http://kink-bigbang.livejournal.com/) and [](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/profile)[**amara_m**](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/).**
> 
>  _Art by musingdarkly_
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> **|[Part One](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/17563.html) | [Part Two](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/17900.html) | [Part Three](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/18083.html) | [Part Four and Thanks](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/18198.html) | **
> 
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> 

_  
**An Offering For Sin**   
_   


**Author’s Note** : _Starts immediately at the end of Season Four (Lucifer Rising). It goes AU after that, although I have borrowed some of the plot elements and a little bit of dialog from the first part of Season Five, at least where I could. No spoilers for anything unaired._

 **  
  
**   


_The LORD was pleased  
to crush him in infirmity._

 _If he gives his life as an offering for sin,  
he shall see his descendants in a long life,  
and the will of the LORD shall be accomplished through him._

 _Because of his affliction  
he shall see the light in fullness  
of days;  
through his suffering, my servant shall justify many,  
and their guilt he shall bear.  
_

 _~Isaiah 53:10-11_




 **Part One**

“Sammy, let’s go,” Dean said gruffly, his gaze caught by the blinding light flaring up from the floor. He had a fist full of Sam’s jacket, and he jerked on it, making a motion towards the door. Sam stood his ground, refused to move at all; Dean glanced at him, not sure what was keeping him there. Sam had apologized, Dean had _heard_ him, so it was damn time for Sam to start listening to him now.

Sam didn’t meet his eyes. “Dean?” he asked, and Dean could see the fear rooting his brother in place. “He’s coming.” _Lucifer_. Dean felt a flash of overwhelming panic, and he struggled to push it back. Panic wasn’t an affordable luxury right now, no matter how fucking understandable it might be. Sam’s fist clutched at him tighter, and the light continued to build, continued to get brighter; Dean squinted his eyes against it, wondering if they were both going to end up blind.

“Sam,” he yelled desperately, trying to get his brother’s attention. “It’s time to get the fuck out of here!”

“No, no…” Sam was muttering to himself, staring into the light as if it had all the answers, “She said it’s in me…”

Alarmed, Dean stepped forward to catch the sides of Sam’s face in his hands, forcing their eyes to meet. “No, Sam! You have to stop listening to them. Nothing’s in you – nothing except the lies you let them fill your head with!” he yelled.

Sam’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he whispered, offering his broken apology once more, as if simple words should be enough to repair everything that had happened. Suddenly Dean flew across the room, Sam’s hard shove enough to throw him off his feet. He landed with a painful thud against the edge of the open doors. He spun around on the ground and threw an arm over his eyes, frantic to see what the hell Sam was doing.

Dean could just make out the outline of Sam’s body against the light. Dean watched, horrified, as Sam moved across the circle of blood, straining as if something were trying to hold him back, one arm thrust out to cut a path and the other up to shield his face against the light. His brother yelled in pain, and Dean called out, “Sammy!” The scream of denial was the only thing he could do, and Sam didn’t pause, never stopped though his muscles clearly strained against the power trying to keep him back.

As he met the light, his scream intensified, and Dean finally managed to move forward. Whatever he tried, the edge of blood was a physical wall he couldn’t cross. “Sammy!” he yelled again in agony, sure that Sam was going to die trying to do whatever the _fuck_ he was trying to do. Sam met the fountain of light and fell forward, right into the center of the maelstrom; Dean screamed, launching his body against the invisible barrier, once and then again, but the force was solid and unforgiving.

A wail of sound erupted in the room, sharp and loud and overwhelming. Dean threw his hands over his ears in a vain attempt to block it out. There was nothing he could do. The apocalypse was coming, and his brother had just thrown himself on the fucking altar. The cacophony continued to build, discordant sounds filling his head and blocking out all his thoughts; it felt like he might explode with it. He couldn’t even see Sam through the light anymore, and a helpless sob escaped him, lost and despairing. He forced his hands down to the cold stone beneath him, deliberately left himself open to the soul tearing noise, and it filled him up, whiting everything out, until he knew he was going to die, almost there… almost…

The noise cut off abruptly, and the silence was almost as shocking as the deafening screeches had been. Dean tensed, expecting to feel the searing pain of hooks in his skin, but, no… He opened his eyes and was greeted with the dimly lit, grimy stone of the church where he was sprawled awkwardly on the ground.

His head ached, and his eyes burned, but this certainly wasn’t the pain of hell.

 _Sammy?_

He jerked himself up onto his knees, his eyes going immediately to the center of the circle where he’d last seen his brother.

 _Fuck_. Sam was curled in its center, holding a tight fetal position and streaked with black grime, naked as the day he was born.

Dean scrambled forward, forgetting that he’d been barred from moving this way before. He grabbed for his brother, pulling him into his arms, and he let out a gasp of relief when he saw Sam’s chest moving; the weak pants of air told Dean in no uncertain terms that Sam was still alive.

He clutched his brother tightly against himself and denied any knowledge of wetness on his face. Sam was okay. Sam was _okay_ … except, he wasn’t waking up. Sam was shivering in his arms, and his skin felt icy cold. Dean stripped off his jacket awkwardly, his arms full of Sam, and wrapped it around his brother. He looked around in confusion, but what he saw didn’t help. Lilith and Ruby were both… gone, black smudges where the bodies had lain, one a little inside the circle and the other at it’s edge. The blood that had formed the swirling design was nothing but long lines of black ash.

“Come on, Sammy, wake up for me…” he whispered, and pulled on his brother’s eyelids, pulling them back so he could see Sam’s eyes. They were rolled back in his head, the pupils completely blown. Other than the continuing violent tremors, Sam didn’t seem to respond. Dean needed to get his brother out of there, needed to get his brother warm. He wasn’t sure what had happened, but getting Sam to safety was all he really fucking cared about right now. He’d deal with everything else later.

“Castiel!” he yelled, wondering how he was going to get his monster-sized bother out of the building. He felt himself flinch at the carelessly formed word, _monster_. He shoved the lingering pain back. Not _now_. The angel’s name echoed around the room and faded away. Nothing happened.

He didn’t even know if the angel had survived; they were probably on their own again. He lifted his brother awkwardly from the floor and dragged him from the room. Sam’s feet were so filthy they left grey trails behind where they dragged against the stone. It was slow going. By the time they were halfway out, Sam’s shaking had increased, and he was moaning pathetically. Dean needed a break, anyway; he sank down to the floor of the narrow hallway to hold Sam against his body, trying to share his warmth.

“Dean?”

Dean’s heart lurched at the whispered name on his brother’s lips. His grip on Sam tightened just a little more. “Sammy? You awake?” he asked gently.

“Cold, so c… cold…” Sam curled his body around Dean’s.

“You’re gonna be fine, Sam,” he reassured, and then, because he couldn’t not ask, “What the hell happened back there?”

“Luci…” Sam panted out, his brief moment of lucidity already slipping away. “I shu’ tha… door…”

Sam’s eyes slipped shut once more, and Dean stared at him uncomprehendingly. Had his brother just seriously claimed to have stopped the devil? Even Sam couldn’t possibly be that strong.

Sam was back to being a dead weight. Dean forced himself back to his feet, dragging and pulling until they were outside. He looked around but they were in the middle of ass nowhere, and the only car present was Ruby’s fucking orange Mustang. At least the hell-bitch was dead. He allowed himself a grim moment of satisfaction. The knife had slipped into her skin easily, and for one satisfying moment, it had felt like he had his brother back at his side, like they used to be.

He dragged Sam to the side door and breathed a sigh of relief when the door opened. He was vaguely disappointed when the keys weren’t dangling conveniently from the ignition.

He glanced anxiously down at Sam. The tremors were bad, and Sam’s breath was coming out fast and shallow; his brother was going into shock. They needed to get the hell out of here. Dean tipped Sam back against the car so he could strip his own shirt off. He added it as an extra layer over the jacket before laying Sam down and raising Sam’s dirty feet up to prop them against the side of the car.

It would have to do. He pulled out his knife and got to work hot-wiring the car. He stilled his thoughts to keep the panic at bay and his hands steady, but it still took way too long before he heard the purr of the engine.

By that point, Sam was muttering under his breath incoherently, and Dean was starting to wonder if a hospital wasn’t in their near future. He wasn’t sure what doctors would be able to do to treat his brother though; whatever was going on, Dean was damn sure it wasn’t natural.

Dean struggled to keep his eyes on the road, his brother’s unconscious state a serious distraction. The blasting heat from the car seemed to be helping, still, the quiet motel was a welcome sight when it came into view. Dean pulled the car into the lot, swung himself out of it and closed the door behind him. He almost collapsed in relief at the familiar feeling of safety the ugly building represented. He knew he was running on fumes, but he let himself indulge for a minute. He opened the passenger door, sank down to grip his brother tightly against him, and buried his face against Sam’s shoulder.

Everything was going to be alright. He just needed to get Sam warm.

Once they were in the room, he pulled Sam into the bathroom where his brain almost shut down on him. There was no shower, just one of those old freestanding tubs, dingy, with the porcelain worn thin in places. It was big though. He could make it work. He got himself moving again and slammed on the hot water to heat, before stripping out of his jeans and shoes. He added just enough cold to be bearable and put the stopper in. He let it fill for several anxious minutes before heaving Sam’s body over the edge and stepping in with him to keep Sam’s head clear of the water.

Dean sat at the back of the tub and pulled Sam between his legs. He wrapped his arms around his brother’s chest, pulling Sam into a tight embrace to add to the warmth. On the off chance that the friction would help, he let his hands trail anxiously over Sam’s skin. It was several moments before it occurred to him that the warm water might be more effective than just touch. He scooped it up with trembling hands to let it run over Sam’s chest. His brother’s body gradually relaxed against Dean’s, and Dean felt his own eyes grow heavy with exhaustion; the knowledge that the warm water was helping more than enough to get his own panic to ease back a bit.

Dean’s thoughts wandered, the heat and momentary calm soothing away the walls he’d been forcing around his memories since his return from hell. He remembered sitting together like this - Sam comforting Dean as he lay wrapped in misery, his body struggling to repair itself. It was habit now to clamp the memories down, and he didn’t let the thought go further; he just let the feelings of safety and contentment wrap around them both.

Sam’s body was heavy and warm against his by the time he turned the water off. Sam stirred a little at the absence of noise. Dean’s hands stilled their movement, but Sam didn’t tense up, so Dean didn’t make a move to get up.

“Dean?” his brother whispered. His voice was steadier than it had been, and Dean allowed himself a quiet moment to revel in the thought that things might be actually be working out. “What happened?”

“How ‘bout you tell me?”

The back of Sam’s head rocked a little where it was resting against Dean’s chest. “I don’t… I shut the door…” Sam’s reply was quiet and subdued.

“Yeah, you said that before, dude. What the hell does that even mean?”

“I could… I could feel all that power, and I… I kind of… twisted it back around on itself. I can’t really explain it,” Sam said, defensive pride dripping from his voice. Hubris, Dad would’ve called it.

The quiet mood slipped away, and Dean closed his eyes against the unwelcome anger welling up at the mention of Sam’s unholy powers. He managed to force out, “So… did Lucifer rise or not?”

“No, Dean,” Sam said forcefully. “I stopped him. I closed the door before he got out.”

It sounded too good to be true. “Dude, are you sure?”

“Yeah, Dean, I’m sure. I stopped it. I felt it.” Dean could hear the anger tingeing Sam’s voice, although his brother was clearly trying to hide it. Sam couldn’t keep stuff from him, he knew his brother too damn well.

Dean felt Sam suddenly stiffen in his arms, and he looked down, his brain suddenly reengaging in a rush. Sam’s dick was floating upright in the warm water, long enough to break the surface… Sam was _hard. This_ Sam. The _real_ Sam. _Awkward_ … and it looked like they had apparently figured that out at approximately the same time.

Sam started struggling against Dean, and Dean let him go. Sam scrambled over the side of the tub like he was on fire and landed on the floor, pulling down a towel to cover himself as soon as he hit the linoleum. He could hear Sam mumbling a panicked, “Shit, shit, shit…” under his breath in a steady stream.

“Sam,” Dean said, standing up to let the water stream off of him and plaster his boxers against his legs, “Calm down.” Amusement at the situation filled him, and he had to choke back a laugh; Sam looked so flummoxed. “It’s probably just a reaction to… everything.”

Sam stilled on the floor and nodded tersely before trying to get up, but he was clearly still suffering the effects of what had happened, and couldn’t get his feet under himself enough to move.

Dean grabbed a towel and started drying himself off quickly. “Just calm down,” he said, concern filling him when he saw Sam’s shivering return. “Give me a second, and I’ll help you.”

Sam collapsed to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself, nodding unhappily. Dean got himself somewhat dry and slung the towel around his hips before stepping out of the tub and moving Sam to the nearest bed. Dean slipped out of his wet boxers and pulled on a pair of sweats before sliding under the covers to pull his shivering brother back into his arms.

Stiffening slightly, Sam rolled to face away within the confines of the embrace. “Why are you here?” he asked miserably.

Dean felt himself tense, anxiety curling in his stomach at the question. “What do you mean?”

“Exactly what I said, Dean,” Sam replied, irritation making his fatigued voice sound stronger. Turning back to face Dean, he demanded, “Why the _fuck_ are you here?”

“I would’ve thought that was clear from the message I left you.”

Sam went completely still, except for the uncontrolled spasms. “Get out.” His voice sounded cold, dead.

Suddenly uncomfortable with their close proximity, Dean let his brother go and sat up. “Sam, I’m not…” His thoughts were spinning. Somehow, in all the terror of the last couple of hours, he’d forgotten all the bad blood that stood between them, had somehow assumed it was back to how it always had been between them, that Sam would have found a way to forgive him. _Like he’d forgiven Sam_. “I’m not leaving you,” Dean said, his annoyance growing as he watched Sam’s eyes shift toward the door. “And you don’t have the strength to walk out on me right now.”

Sam curled deeper into the covers, unhappiness radiating from him, and Dean suddenly flashed back to a much younger Sam, to a Sam that had looked up to him, respected him. He ached for that.

“Please, Dean,” Sam begged. “Please. Just leave.”

“Did you get my message?” Dean asked.

There was a long pause before Sam hissed out, “Yes.”

“Then you know why I can’t do that.” He waited, expectantly. Sam continued to act like a spoiled little brat, settling into full-on bitch face. Dean shook his head, silently cussing Bobby out. He didn’t expect roses and pink ballerina dolls, but Sam could at least meet him half way. Hell, a quarter of the damn way.

Sam huddled in on himself, clutching the blankets for warmth. Dean stripped the blankets off the other bed and laid them over his brother. No, he wasn’t going to leave, but he needed some fucking air. “Look, I think maybe you need to eat. Sounds like you worked some serious mojo back there, and it probably took something out of you. I’m going to go get you some food, but I’ll be back soon, okay?”

Sam still didn’t bother to acknowledge him, so he pulled on a shirt and some shoes, grabbed his jacket and slammed the door on the way out.

~o0O0o~

Dean got back to find Sam hadn’t moved from where he’d been when Dean left, though the trembling was possibly a little worse. Concern wiped away the last of the anger Dean hadn’t been able to shake, and he moved directly to the bed and sat down on the edge. Sam didn’t really acknowledge him, even when Dean wiped long, messy bangs off his brother’s sweaty forehead. Sam was definitely running a fever, but Dean was pretty sure the sweat was a good sign. “Hey, Sammy, wake up. I brought you back a burger. You’ll want to eat it before it gets cold.”

When Sam didn’t react, Dean pulled the covers all the way back and shook his shoulder. “C’mon, dude, you need to eat,” he said a little louder. This was all just after effects from working that damn demon magic. Sam needed to eat to get his strength back. That’s all this was.

Sam was curling in on himself even more tightly. “Dean, ‘m cold,” Sam muttered miserably.

“Yeah, well, I’ll put the covers back when you eat something. Now sit up and take this.” Dean shook the bag next to Sam’s head, but all he got back was a mournful sounding groan.

“Sam,” Dean barked. “Sit the hell up. Don’t make me drag your ass off the bed.”

Sam looked up slowly and glared at him, but when Dean didn’t react, Sam’s bravado quickly slipped away, and he sank back into his dejected ball of misery. Sam’s voice sounded small and muffled against his arm, “I really don’t think I can eat that, Dean.”

“Yeah, well, try.” Dean said, refusing to back down.

Sam hefted a sigh, but he began slowly unfolding himself. Dean helped him make it all the way up to sitting. Halfway through the burger, Sam was flinging himself out of the bed to throw up on the carpet, and Dean let him go back to sleep after that in defeat.

~o0O0o~

Two days, two _fucking_ days, and Sam hadn’t been able to keep a damn thing down. Even water was coming up almost as fast as he drank it. Dean was literally watching his brother waste away in front of him. Sam had been slipping in and out of consciousness for the last day. Even when he was awake, he was usually either confused or flat out hallucinating and shouting out words that made no sense at people who weren’t even there.

Dean’s presence did seem to calm him, at least. Dean had to admit that that right there was an indication he was handling all this better than he had at Bobby’s, but the steady decline was still continuing despite his vigil. Right now, Sam was lying on the bed, struggling to bring in enough air. Dean pulled his phone back out, his finger hovering over the nine button. He’d been ready to do it ten minutes ago, but the onset of yet another fucking seizure had distracted him. They probably wouldn’t be able to treat demon blood addiction, but they could at least do something about the dehydration. Of course they’d probably lock Sam up in some supper secret government program for study the first time he flew across the room…

“Dean,” Sam moaned from the bed. “Just kill me. God, just end this. I can’t do this anymore.”

Dean shoved the phone back in his pocket and sat on the bed next to his brother. He rubbed his fingers gently against Sam’s forehead, but Sam flinched away as if the touch was painful. Maybe it was. “Sam, you’re gonna get better. This is gonna pass.”

“No,” Sam gritted out through clenched teeth, before shifting weakly away from Dean. “You said it, Dean. I’m a monster… a vampire.”

Dean’s heart twisted, and he flushed uncomfortably. He couldn’t blame the monster comment on Sam’s disorientation. “Sam, I never said…”

“Yeah, Dean, you did, and I am… God, it’s all I can think about.” Dean reached out and pulled his brother into his arms. He’d been doing this a lot; Sam seemed to appreciate the warmth. Sam twisted in Dean’s arms, ran a tongue over the skin of Dean’s wrist, wet and warm and startling. Dean jerked his arm back. “Sam, what the fuck?”

“God, Dean,” Sam moaned miserably, writhing uncomfortably in Dean’s grip. “Just kill me now. I need it… I need blood… Oh, God, just kill me…”

Dean let his breath out slowly. This wasn’t the first time Sam had mumbled something about blood, but it was the first time he’d suggested taking Dean’s. “Sam, I’m not a demon. I don’t think my blood is going to help you.”

“You don’t know that. We could…” Sam whimpered out, pained, his voice small, “We could try…”

Sam pressed against Dean’s hip, burying his face there, innocent and childlike. Dean gripped Sam more tightly. He sat frozen, not sure what to do, his brain spinning in unproductive circles. What Sam wanted, what he was asking for… it was ludicrous. There was no way it could help. It was just Sam being delusional.

He felt Sam still, falling into unconsciousness once more. Dean felt panic wrap around his chest in a tight vise. This was really bad. Sam was dying. But Jesus, blood? He hadn’t even let his brain go there, but what if this was the only thing that could break Sam out of this downward spiral? And how long was it going to take to track a demon down and subdue it long enough to get it back here? Sam was so weak at this point that he probably wasn’t going to be able to defend himself against it. Even with his powers.

Sam’s breath was getting more labored, a rattling sound coming from his chest that seemed to steal Dean’s breath right along with it…

God, it was worth a try. Anything was worth a try at this point. And _his_ blood wasn’t tainted. It was clean… maybe it’d work like methadone or something. If it didn’t work, there’d be nothing left but to risk the ambulance. Coming to a decision he quickly reached across the narrow gap between the beds and slipped the knife out from under his pillow, the blade flashing as it caught the light.

 _This was so fucking desperate._

“Sam.” He shook his brother firmly, and Sam jerked back, his eyes flicking half open. They widened when he saw the knife in Dean’s hand.

“Dean?” he whispered. Sam reached out to touch it tentatively, his hand shaking almost violently. Sam’s hand wrapped around Dean’s and pulled down, and Dean let him, until he realized Sam was pulling the knife toward his own neck. He pulled back violently, ripping his hand out of Sam’s grip easily. He flushed, wondering how they had grown so distant that Sam would ever think Dean would be okay with _that_.

“Not what I had in mind, Sammy,” he growled.

He shifted Sam awkwardly against his stomach, unsure how to proceed, and then wrapped his left arm around his brother. Sam’s already rapid breaths were coming out faster now as his eyes tracked on Dean’s hand. Dean brought the knife down against his own skin.

Not like he hadn’t done this before.

He ran the knife against the flesh of his forearm, sharp and fast, not too deep, but deep enough that his blood welled up bright and red against his skin.

Sam groaned, a pained exhalation of air, and pulled Dean’s bleeding arm against his mouth, his fingers digging into Dean’s bicep and wrist as if to keep Dean from running away. Pain flared up as Sam’s mouth pressed against the wound, his tongue playing with the cut edges of skin. He teased the skin farther apart to allow the blood to flow more freely; suddenly Dean was in the dark - demons covered him, licking and slurping against the hundreds of shallow cuts littering his body. Panic jolted through him, and he tried to pull away, but Sam was wrapped around his arm, cradling it close in a tight grip as he sucked at the wound in long deep pulls. _Oh, God_. Dean struggled to push the memories of hell away and made himself pull Sam in harder.

 _No matter how bad it got_. He’d said it. He meant it.

Pushing Sam away had only brought them to this point. Dean’d fucked everything up, but if this worked, if Sam could get some strength back, maybe it would be enough. Even if it wasn’t enough to fix everything, at least it might be enough to get Sam through the worst of the withdrawal symptoms. Lucifer was gone now. That changed everything.

Sam continued sucking hungrily at his skin, little desperate sounds of pleasure escaping him as he did it, and Dean pulled him in closer. Sam’s shivers eased as he continued to tongue at the slit in Dean’s arm, digging in with deft jabs, tearing at the skin to make the cut bigger, deeper. Dean could feel the blood sliding down his arm toward his wrist, and he closed his eyes as Sam followed it down with his tongue, licking along the skin, a soft lover’s caress slipping down until Sam’s head was somehow resting against Dean’s crotch, his body resting between Dean’s legs. The soft slick pull of skin into Sam’s warm mouth contrasted sharply against the sting of the cut and called back memories of things best left forgotten. Sam pressed close, his little movements grinding against Dean’s dick. A hopeless longing filled Dean and he pressed up, his dick responding, wanting more, even as his brain rebelled.

This was wrong.

He tried to pull away, but Sam gripped his arm tightly, hard enough to bruise, and bit down against the soft skin of Dean’s wrist, his teeth rough enough to tear.

Images from hell crashed through Dean once more, overwhelming, distracting…

 _Dean’s thrown into the wall so hard it knocks him out for a moment. When he comes to once more, he drags himself into the corner, curling into himself painfully. The bones in his hands are smashed and shattered, his body littered with bruises, but overall it’s been a mostly good day - for hell._

 _He flinches back when Alistair approaches. He doesn’t have to look up – the demon’s smell is distinctive, heavy and sickening like rotten flowers, so strong it makes Dean’s head ache. Alistair’s steps are loud, echoing in the otherwise total silence that makes Dean’s nightly prison. It’s how Dean keeps track of the passing of days. Six hundred and sixty-six nights spent healing from what they do to him in the daytime. It only ever takes one night to heal though, no matter what they do to him._

 _Alistair reaches him and crouches down, breath a whisper along Dean’s ear. He knows what’s coming, and he thinks he’ll probably go mad soon, and then it won’t matter what they ask him anymore. The demon reaches out a hand and runs it softly down the side of Dean’s face. Dean slams his head against the wall, once and again, lets the pain wash over him as he begins to climb inside of himself. Losing himself in the lyrics of songs he had long ago etched into his very bones._

 _The demon is talking to him, but he can’t make out the words, doesn’t want to know, until a single one, the most important one, makes it past his defenses._

 _Sammy…_

 _Alistair has his chin gripped tightly between two boney fingers, face only inches from Dean’s. A cruel smile slithers across loathed features as Alistair’s hateful eyes finally lock with Dean’s. No one’s mentioned Sam since Dean arrived here, and that non-existence had been… comforting somehow._

 _“You could end this, Dean,” Alistair sing-songs. “Just do what I do. Let me **teach** you. You could end All. This. Pain. If you just give in to what you really are.”_

 _Dean shuts his eyes again, blocking out the sight of the demon and searching once more for the oblivion of his music. He must have imagined the name._

 _The sound of Alistair’ mocking laugh chases after him, refusing to leave him in peace. “I wouldn’t go away just yet, Dean,” Alistair taunts, and then grabs Dean’s broken hands, slamming them against the wall. Dean screams in agony. It isn’t the worst he’s received, but somehow, each new torment always feels worst in that moment. The demon keeps Dean’s hands pinned, keeps their hands clasped together until the pain recedes enough that Dean can focus on what’s happening around him._

 _His breaths are coming out sharp and fast in an effort to breathe through the pain. Alistair leans in until their lips are almost touching. “Sammy…” Alistair whispers, and Dean flinches back, the name undeniable now._

 _Dean scowls at the demon, refusing to acknowledge what’s been said. He won’t play into Alistair’s new game._

 _Alistair just grins, unfazed by Dean’s pathetic resistance. “Don’t slip away this time, Dean, or you’ll miss your surprise.” Alistair’s mouth slips around to the side of Dean’s head, his lips brushing seductively against Dean’s ear. “You didn’t answer my question. What d’you say, Dean? You wanna be my student?”_

 _Dean stubbornly refuses to answer, and Alistair squeezes his hands once more, grinding the bones together until Dean can’t take it anymore. He screams out, “No!” in answer, but the denial doesn’t sound anywhere near as strong as he wants it to._

 _He climbs into the pain, lets the music chase him until he’s lost, and time becomes meaningless._

 _He’s not sure what pulls him from his oblivion this time, but he comes aware suddenly, awash in pain. Alistair must have really worked him over before he left because Dean’s whole body is in agony this time. Tears run unheeded down his face, his body’s uncontrollable reaction to this level of pain, and his breaths sob into the dirt beneath him. He just wants the pain to stop, wants everything to end. But he knows it won’t. Not ever._

 _“Forget the hearse ‘cause I never die, I got nine lives, cat’s eyes…” he sings into the dirt, followed by a long sob. It doesn’t matter, there’s nobody here to see his weakness, and he’s oblivious to the dirt that clings to his lips, to the dirt that turns to mud as he sucks hopeless gasps of dirty air into his lungs._

 _He can feel his broken body starting to knit itself back together, and it tears yet another scream out of him. “Cat’s eyes…” he gasps out when he can, but he can’t remember the words that come next, and oblivion stays just out of his reach as panic takes over._

 _He almost doesn’t feel the gentle hand against his face, almost doesn’t hear the soft shushing noise whispered against his ear, but the sound, the touch, is familiar in the way of distant memories of childhood and comfort and love._

 _“Dean.”_

 _The voice is soft, warm, worried, and it rips through his heart, just as his desperate denial is ripped from his throat. It can’t be. Not here. Sam can’t be here. “No.”_

 _Sam’s strong arms circle around him, picking him up gently and holding him through the pain. Dean’s not strong enough to push himself away, and he sobs against his brother through the long hours of the night, as his body slowly, painfully puts itself back together._

 _He’s actually fallen asleep when the door to his prison slams open and Alistair strides into the room. He jerks awake, knowing Sam was a dream, but his brother’s arms still hold him tightly, keeping him close. He can hear Alistair’s soft laughter in the background. The demon is never loud, never loses control. Dean puts the laughter out of his thoughts and allows himself to look into Sam’s face instead. “Sammy?” he whispers incredulously, waiting for his brother to disappear, hoping that this isn’t just an illusion and terrified that it’s not._

 _Moisture wells in Sam’s eyes, “I’m sorry, Dean. I couldn’t get you out. This was the best I could do.”_

 _“What…” Dean begins before Alistair rips him from Sam’s arms. The demon is strong, too strong for Dean to fight, but knowing that doesn’t keep him from trying as he’s dragged back._

 _Sam jumps up and runs toward him, but an invisible force sends Sam flying into the back wall, and Dean can hear bones snap with the force of the blow. Sam collapses down to the ground, his body giving out, but he still manages to shout out to Dean as Dean is dragged from the room. “I’ll be here for you tonight, Dean, I promise. That was the deal I made. They don’t get to keep us apart!”_

 _“No!” Dean cries out, his heart breaking as Alistair slams him against the rack in the middle of the room. He doesn’t even struggle as Alistair straps him down. Instead he searches out Alistair’s gaze, begging him silently to make this all a lie._

 _Alistair smirks at him, close-lipped, and wraps a skeletal hand around Dean’s throat, squeezing until Dean feels his eyes bulge out with the pressure. He searches for his empty-place, for the lyrics that seal the walls in place, but his panic for his brother keeps him present, keeps him here._

 _Alistair releases his grip and turns away, his tools clinking quietly together as he fusses over the table they rest on. “Please,” Dean croaks out, his voice nothing more than a soft rasp. “Please, tell me. What’s he doing here? How did he get here?”_

 _Alistair turns around with a knife in his hand and begins calmly cutting through Dean’s shirt. The tearing noise is loud in the silence; Alistair doesn’t let Dean hear the screams of hell except when it suites his purpose. The demon snorts at a joke only he can hear. “Please,” Dean begs, “please, I need to know.”_

 _Alistair’s hand stills against Dean’s stomach and his eyes go distant, as if lost in a fond memory. “It’s like your brother said, Dean. He made a deal. Now he’s here with you.”_

 _“No, no,” Dean mutters. “It’s not true. It’s not real. You’re just making it seem like it’s Sam.”_

 _Alistair slams the knife into Dean’s stomach and he screams out at the sudden, invasive pain._

 _“Dean!?”_

 _He can hear Sam’s frantic shout through the closed door, and he forces himself to cut off his cry, biting his lip until it bleeds._

 _“Don’t need to use illusion to hurt you, Dean. You know that. Now, Sammy’s torture? He gets to listen you scream. Every day. From now on. Well, at least until I get bored. Good thing I don’t bore easily.” Alistair twists the knife, and Dean can’t help the brief cry that slips past his lips._

 _“Dean!” Sam’s cry sounds anguished behind the door, and he can hear pounding against it now._

 _“Please, it isn’t true,” he mutters, searching desperately for his lyrics, but Sam’s cries keep him grounded, his escape cut off. “Sammy never would have made a deal like that, how do I…”_

 _Alistair’s knife plunges into Deans mouth, pining his tongue to his lower jaw, making it impossible for Dean to finish his question, to do anything but cry out wordlessly._

 _“Now, now, Dean,” Alistair tisks. “No more talking.”_

 _Alistair abandons the knife there, leaving it in place as he calmly grabs another tool to continue his work. Over the rest of the day, Dean isn’t sure what’s louder – the screams Alistair continuously manages to wrest from him, or Sammy’s desperate cries for his release._

 _“Dean? Come on man, come back to me.”_

Trapped, pinned down by a heavy weight and filled with a dull panic Dean started struggling.

 _“Dean!”_

He shoved up hard, and the weight rolled away, leaving him gasping for breath.

“Dean?” Sam peered down at him, his face filled with concern.

What the… He struggled to get his breathing back under control. He was on a bed… Sam was next to him. Sam had been… it all came back in a rush, and he sat up quickly, pushing Sam away to look down at his arm. It was still bleeding, and he clamped a hand over the wound.

The movement drew Sam’s gaze, and he threw a guilt-filled look toward it before sliding out of the bed to move into the bathroom. He looked steadier than he had since they’d left the convent.

Sam was back a moment later, the first aid kit clutched in his hands. He sat back on the bed without comment, readying the supplies. He took Dean’s arm and gently probed at the cut. It was going to need stitches; that was obvious at a glance. Sam handed Dean the bottle of Jack they kept in the kit, and Dean tossed back a couple of long swallows before Sam got started.

~o0O0o~

Dean slammed the door of the Impala closed, and Sam flinched back with a pathetic moan. “Sorry…” Dean muttered; Sam’s large form, hunched over the dash and radiating misery, stilled any sarcastic barb Dean might have otherwise uttered. Sam still didn’t look good, but at least the tremors had largely vanished.

He threw the bag on the seat and dug out one of the bottles, nudging Sam with it. “Here.”

Sam swiveled his head to look at him, the side of his face resting heavily on his arms. His eyes grew, and he scowled at Dean. “Pedialyte? Dude, I’m not six,” he husked out.

Dean ignored him. “Drink it slow. You haven’t drunk anything since before… since before. If you can keep it down, I’ll let you have some yummy crackers.”

Sam scowled again, but he took the bottle, and Dean started the car. Dean kept a surreptitious eye on Sam to make sure he kept drinking, but he really couldn’t figure out what the hell to say, so the miles slipped by in silence. When Sam finally spoke again, it made Dean jump.

“Where’re we headed?”

“Figured we’d head back to Bobby’s, make sure he’s okay.” Dean replied.

Sam sat up slowly and shook his head. “Castiel.”

“What?”

“We should try to get in touch with Castiel.”

“Why?” Dean asked, suspicion suddenly flaring uncomfortably in his gut. “I thought you said you stopped Lucifer?”

“I did, but, dude, there’s still only one seal left. What if there’s another way to open it? Castiel can check with the other Angels and find out if there’s something we still need to do.” Sam leaned tiredly against the window, his brief surge of energy apparently leaving almost as soon as it had come. “I fucked up, Dean; I need to make sure there’s nothing else I can do to fix it before…”

“You fucked up all right.” The words slipped out before he could censor them, and he didn’t really mean them, except for how he really did. The anger was on a slow burn, easy to ignore, but it wasn’t gone.

Sam flinched back like he’d been struck, and Dean saw the hurt in Sam’s eyes before he nodded and turned away to look out the window. The silence dragged on between them, but Dean couldn’t bring himself to take back the harsh words. He fumbled the crackers out of the bag and tossed them at Sam. “You’re keeping the purple stuff down, eat some crackers.”

Sam stared at the package for a while, and Dean worried that Sam was going to try to continue the conversation Dean had opened the door to. He almost sighed out loud in relief when Sam simply muttered, “We should find Castiel,” and opened the package to fish out a cracker.

Dean watched Sam eat out of the corner of his eye for a moment. Sam was doing better. Dean really didn’t want to think about why, or what it meant. “Thing is,” Dean confessed, “Castiel probably isn’t going to be able to talk to the other angels.”

Sam shot him a surprised look, “How come?”

“He kinda destroyed some bridges getting me to you.” Sam only raised an eyebrow so Dean continued, “The angels, turns out they wanted the apocalypse as badly as the demons did. They seem to think starting a war will result in killing Lucifer, and be damned the consequences to humanity. They played us.”

“Shit,” Sam breathed out quietly.

“So I don’t know how much help Cas is actually going it be, even if we can find him… Left him at Chuck’s. The higher-ups were coming to stop us, and Cas spirited me away.”

There was a pause, and Dean cast a sidelong look at Sam, who was sitting next to him with a frown on his face. After a few moments Sam shook his head and asked, “Don’t you even want to know what happened to him?”

“I…” He pushed the anger down, trying to untangle his feelings. Cas had come through for him in the end. He’d made the decision to change. That counted for something. “Yeah, of course I do.”

“Besides, he still probably knows more than Bobby at this point, even if he is cut off. I really think we should try to find him first. Just in case.” Dean couldn’t make himself reply, and Sam added, “And Chuck’s a lot closer anyway.”

Dean scowled but then nodded his agreement despite his vague feeling of unease. Ruby was dead, it’s not like Sam had anything to lie to him about now.

~o0O0o~

The windows were all shattered out, and there was a hole in the wall at the edge of the house. It really didn’t look good. Dean looked over at Sam who was looking a little grey. His eyes were closed and his breaths were shallow and heavy. “Sam?” Dean asked quietly.

Sam jerked awake with a sharp intake of breath and looked at Dean wearily. “What?” he asked, his voice gravelly with fatigue.

“We’re here.”

Sam just grunted and rolled out of the car to stagger unsteadily to his feet. Dean watched him for a moment before getting out of the car himself. Maybe he should take Sam to a hotel and come back here on his own.

A loud shout from the house had Dean racing up the front steps and slamming against the door. It was locked but already damaged, so he backed up and landed a solid kick that sent it flying off its hinges. The inside of the place was even worse than the outside. Furniture was ripped to shreds and mixed with paper and broken knickknacks. Stuff was thrown everywhere, making walking treacherous, but the sounds of a struggle in the next room sent Dean leaping across that room and into the next. Chuck was on the ground with a stranger leaning over him, a bloody knife gripped tightly in a raised fist. There was blood splattered everywhere.

“Hey!” Dean shouted, and the man turned to look at him with pitch black eyes. It smiled, showing blood-stained teeth before black smoke began pouring out of the demon’s mouth. The man collapsed forward across Chuck as soon as the smoke was gone, and Dean rushed forward, dragging the dead weight of him off of the prophet.

Chuck was a mess, multiple stab wounds decorated his body, most of them littering his arms and legs, but he had a couple good ones in his torso as well. Blood was pouring out of him, soaking into the carpet thickly, and Dean could tell there was no way the man was going to make it without divine intervention.

“Castiel!” he shouted, hoping the angel was still close. How could he have let this happen? And where the hell were the archangels?

“Not here,” Chuck husked out, blood and spittle clogging his throat and making him difficult to understand.

Chuck’s eyes rolled into to the back of his head and his body gave a couple of violent spasms before going so still, Dean wasn’t sure he was still alive. He grabbed Chuck’s face in one hand and gave it a little shake. Chuck’s eyes fluttered open slightly, and Dean asked, “Where? Where is he, Chuck?”

“He ran,” Chuck whispered into the still room, his voice barely there.

“He ran? Ran where?”

“Corpus,” Chuck got out before weak, gasping coughs shook his body. He was coughing up blood, and Dean turned his face gently so it spilled out onto the floor.

With one more heaving breath Chuck gasped out, “Queen… Bluff…” before his breath left him in a quiet sigh.

“Chuck?” he said, moving his fingers along Chuck’s neck, searching for a pulse.

Right behind him he heard a thud and he whirled around to find Sam collapsed against the wall, looking pale as death.

“What the hell, Sammy?” he asked.

“Dean?” Sam responded quietly, more than a little out of breath. “We need… to leave…”

Dean glanced back at Chuck. The man was dead; there was nothing they could do. He shook his head. “Yeah, Sam, okay.” He hauled his brother up and got them both out of there.

~o0O0o~

By the time Dean hit the next town, Sam was having trouble staying awake; his mad dash into Chuck’s place seemed to have stolen the last of his reserves. Dean pulled into the first motel he saw and got them a room. Sam sat on the bed, looking rather wretched, and waved him off absently when he offered the shower, so he took it for himself. The warm water didn’t do as much as he hoped for the tension that had settled deep in his muscles. He pulled on a pair of boxers and a t-shirt before coming out to discover that Sam had barely moved; Sam’s head rested awkwardly against the headboard as he dozed.

There was a cheap, single-serving coffee maker in the room. Dean brewed some and then sat next to Sam on the bed, propped him up and waved the weak swill under his nose to get his attention. Sam struggled awake and finally managed to focus on Dean and take the coffee. He drank it down, not even seeming to notice the heat. Sam visibly shivered, and Dean felt the worry of the last few days creeping back.

Dean sighed, forcing himself not to back away, “What’s wrong, Sam?”

Sam stared into the cup like it held the answer to stopping the apocalypse. Dean rested his hand on Sam’s shoulder to get his attention, and Sam jerked back a little, startled. Dean could feel fine tremors running through Sam’s body, too subtle to see.

Sam looked up at Dean but couldn’t meet his gaze. Sam’s eyes moved away to stare at the wall morosely. “Maybe you should leave, Dean,” Sam said quietly.

“Why, you need something?”

Sam let out a long-suffering huff, and his gaze moved to the ceiling. “No. I mean, I think… we should maybe split up. Get some space from each other for a while.”

“Old ground, we’ve already talked about this,” Dean replied, irritated. “What’s going on with you?”

Sam’s lips thinned, stubborn Winchester pride decorating his features, and Dean was long past the time of putting up with that. He grabbed Sam’s face and forced their gazes to meet. “Just fucking _tell me_ , Sam.” He let his hand drop back to Sam’s shoulder, but didn’t move his eyes away.

Dean watched Sam’s eyes fill with fear, watched Sam struggle silently to come to some decision. He sat still, determined to out-stubborn his brother. Sam’s eyes dropped down, and Dean leaned in close to catch Sam’s whispered words, “I don’t think it was enough, Dean. I think I need more.”

Dean felt tension creep up his back, knotting his already clenched muscles tighter. His brain refused to make sense of the quiet confession. “You just need time to recover. That’s all. You were really fucking sick for several days. You probably just need a happy meal, dude. I’ll go get one. Be back in a heartbeat.” He stood up, but a firm grip on his naked thigh stopped him from getting any distance. He looked down at Sam’s hand, surprised.

“I don’t need that. I need… blood. Back at Chuck’s place…” Dean jerked his gaze away from Sam’s hand, steeled himself against the instinct to move away. Sam’s face changed from miserable to determined as Dean watched. “I just need more,” Sam finally added. The words, _so what are you going to do about it_ , didn’t need to be spoken.

Sam’s face was flushing red with shame, but he wasn’t backing down, and, shit, what was Dean supposed to do? Kill Sam? He couldn’t do it. Just let him die? Same thing as killing him. Let him drink someone else’s blood?

Sam’s hand on his thigh was making him feel twitchy. He stepped back and forced Sam to let him go before he turned to rummage through the weapons bag. He pulled a small knife and held it out, hilt first, to Sam. Sam’s eyes got large as he looked from the knife to Dean’s face and back again.

“Dean?” Sam breathed out, his voice small and pain-edged, but he still reached, tentatively, to take the knife. Sam’s gaze seemed to catch on the bandage that still covered Dean’s arm, and he sat unmoving, his eyes locked there.

“You aren’t hurting anyone this way, Sam,” Dean coaxed, trying not to think too hard about what Sam wanted to do. Needed to do. He just wanted it over with, so they could get some sleep.

“Yeah,” Sam whispered. He reached forward and caressed a finger lightly against the bandage on Dean’s arm, his brow furrowed deeply, and then pulled off the covering. The skin looked angry and red where the neat stitches held it together. Sam took hold of Dean’s hand and pulled, forcing Dean to lean over the bed. He brought Dean’s arm against his mouth to let his lips trail softly against the skin, and Dean felt himself shiver in response.

“This’ll take days to heal,” Sam murmured with a small shake of his head, his lips lingering against Dean. He let that arm go and traded it for the other one. He pulled it up against his mouth, letting his warm breath ghost lightly over the skin.

Dean suddenly wanted to tear his arm out of Sam’s grasp and get the hell out of the claustrophobic room. Instead, holding his breath in anticipation of what Sam was going to do next, he forced himself to sit down.

Sam’s tongue snaked out and ran wetly across the skin of Dean’s wrist. Dean gasped his breath out in surprise, but Sam didn’t stop. Sam licked over his skin, leaving behind trails of saliva; his warm breath felt cold and his tongue moved in a soft caress that raised goose bumps up and down his arm, making him shudder. It was suddenly far too hot in the small room, and Dean felt sweat break out across his forehead.

Sam sucked the wet patch of skin into his mouth and let his teeth and tongue tease against the skin as he gripped Dean’s arm tightly. “Fuck,” Dean muttered; the sound of his own voice startled him, and he started to pull back. Sam released the wrist he held and flashed angry, possessive eyes at Dean before pressing the flat of the knife against Dean’s lips.

“Don’t,” was all Sam said. He trailed the knife down Dean’s chin, the pressure light enough not to cut but sharp enough to scrape the skin and leave a burning sensation in its wake. It occurred to Dean to wonder if Sam might actually be dangerous only a moment before Sam tightened his grip against Dean’s arm. The fiery sting of the knife slid across the inside of Dean’s wrist. It wasn’t much of a cut, barely bled, but Sam pressed his tongue against it like it was something to savor.

Dean’s breath came out in short pants, and his dick came alive under the thin cloth of his boxers. He shifted uncomfortably, hoping Sam wouldn’t notice.

“Not here…” Sam murmured.

“What?” Dean said, trying to make sense of Sam’s sudden desire to leave the room.

“Not… too many cuts on your arms are gonna leave you vulnerable in a fight.”

Dean flushed. He’d been so fixated on Sam the last few days that he hadn’t even thought…

Sam’s hand was hard on Dean’s knee, pushing his legs apart. The knife dropped down, cutting through skin before Dean had time to process what Sam planned to do. “Sam…” he gasped out, his hand convulsing against the sheets, and Dean’s sudden, panicked desire to get away was thwarted only by Sam’s tight grasp on his shoulder and leg.

Bright, red blood welled up at the cut, and Sam dipped down to catch it, to lap it up, before a single drop had time to fall. Dean’s brain short-circuited; Sam’s mouth against his inner thigh was hotter than fuck, and he opened his legs and arched back, letting the sensation claim him. Sam’s cheek was so close he could feel it disturbing the thin material that separated their skin. Dean whimpered and barely managed to hold his hips still to keep from giving away the game completely. Dean looked down with blissed-out eyes. Sam had cut more deeply this time, and Dean could see his brother’s throat working as he sucked and swallowed the blood that was flowing out quickly.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they spent frozen together like that, but he was starting to feel light-headed when he brought a shaking hand up to run through Sam’s shaggy hair. He leaned over, wrapped himself around Sam and, careful not to dislodge his brother from his thigh, dropped a light kiss against the side of Sam’s head. _God, Sammy_ , he thought, _I missed this_ …

Dean’s thigh was burning; the pain grew each moment Sam suckled against it, biting and digging in with his tongue to keep the wound from closing. The room started to spin.

Dean relaxed into the pain, let it envelop him… trusted Sam to take care of him. The world went black.

~o0O0o~

Dean’s thigh throbbed, and he opened bleary eyes to peer at it. There was a neat, white bandage covering his newest wound. Sam had already taken care of it. Dean was toying with the idea of ripping the covering off to see how bad it was when Sam interrupted his thoughts.

“Hey, Dean, you up?” The voice was soft and across the room. Dean propped himself up to find Sam sitting at the table, the computer open in front of him. “Sixteen,” Sam stated cryptically.

“Beg your pardon?” Dean asked.

“Stitches, I had to put in sixteen stitches,” Sam replied, at least having the grace to look embarrassed. Dean flopped back down onto the bed, his eyes sliding shut. They should probably talk about what had happened, but Dean’s brain shied away. He just… couldn’t go there. It was really tempting to just let himself fall back to sleep. He almost felt hung-over.

“It’s a church in Texas.”

Dean forced his heavy lids back open a crack. “What is?” he grumbled.

“It’s… I think that’s what Chuck was trying to tell us. Where Castiel is. There’s a church in Corpus Christi that’s known as the Queen of the Bluff. The Corpus Christi Cathedral. It’s the best I can come up with from what Chuck said.”

Dean groaned softly; Sam was way too fucking wide-awake this morning. “Did you at least bring me coffee?” he muttered.

“Yeah, but that was a couple hours ago. It’s cold now. It seemed like you needed to sleep. It’s probably a three-day drive from here. We should get on the road.”

Dean wanted to throw something at Sam, but he was too damn tired to do it. He contented himself with the image of his pillow flying across the air and hitting Sam hard in the face.

“Dean? I really think we need to get moving.”

“Fuck. Bobby’s closer,” Dean mumbled into his pillow and then wondered if Sam could understand him when there was a long silence.

“I thought we agreed to find Castiel?” Sam finally asked.

Suddenly uncomfortable with the thought of talking to Bobby himself, Dean forced himself to roll into a sitting position on the side of the bed. Not that there was anything to be ashamed of. Bobby would understand about what they’d had to do… probably. But… His gaze landed briefly on his bandaged thigh before skittering away. “No. You’re right.”

Sam immediately shut the laptop and started packing up, but Dean couldn’t seem to find the energy to get up and help. He was starting to wonder if his blood was actually helping Sam, if there would ever be an end to this. If there wasn’t, then Sam needed him to find another solution.

Or _Sam_ needed to find another solution. It’s not like everything had to come down to him to fix. This one was all Sam’s responsibility anyway. Hell, if Sam hadn’t managed to figure out at the last possible moment how to close the seal again, they would’ve had Armageddon on their hands.

Okay, maybe that wasn’t completely Sam’s fault, but the bulk of it sure as hell was. It’s not like Dean hadn’t tried to make his brother take another path.

He watched Sam move around the room with practiced efficiency, the strength of Sam’s body just barely contained, and Dean’s anger slowly bled away. His brother was beautiful.

Dean closed his eyes, blocking out the sight. He was just… tired. So much stuff left unsaid between them, so much hurt and betrayal that it was tempting to suggest a parting of ways, tempting to just say yes to Sam’s multiple suggestions that they do so. It would be so much easier… in some ways at least… but that was mostly selfishness on his part, and he knew it. He’d been coping with what had happened in hell for months now. His feelings weren’t real. He could bury them again.

By the time Dean felt up to driving, Sam had their stuff ready to go. They traveled through the day mostly in silence. He didn’t really want to acknowledge that, when Sam was okay that night, Dean was a little disappointed.


	2. An Offering For Sin - Part Two

_  
**An Offering For Sin - Part Two**   
_   


“Maybe I should drive.”

Dean shot a startled look at his brother. “Excuse me?”

“You look tired. I’m just,” Sam floundered for a moment, searching for what he wanted to say. He had that look like he’d eaten something bad. Or, he was constipated. Dean smirked to himself. Sam sighed and then continued in a somewhat defeated voice, “You just looked tired. I could take the wheel. If you wanted a break.”

“In your dreams, dude. I’m fine,” Dean growled, sitting up from his slouch slowly so it wouldn’t be obvious.

“Yeah. Whatever, Dean.”

They settled back into silence again, and the miles rolled by. Dean could tell that Sam was stewing about something, but he just sat there stiffly, filling the car with pissy vibes. Dean rolled his eyes; damned if he was going to start the conversation. If Sam wanted to say something, he could damn well bring it up himself. Besides, if Dean started it, Sam’d probably just lie about whatever it was anyway.

“I’m feeling better.”

Dean had gotten lulled by the road, and the sudden words startled him and made him jump almost as bad as when the damned angels popped in. He shot Sam an annoyed look, and, when Sam seemed to be waiting for a response, said, “That’s… good.”

“We could…” Sam exhaled loudly, and Dean just waited for him to spit out whatever it was. “We could split up.”

Dean shoved down the anger and guilt and… he couldn’t deny the small bit of hope that welled up at the words. He didn’t know what to do with any of the feelings, though, and he’d already decided against this plan anyway. “God damn it, Sam. Not this again.”

“This is different,” Sam said, his voice tired and remote as he keep his gaze fixed out the window. “This time I’m not saying them while I’m sick.”

Dean snorted and shook his head, struggling and failing to keep his anger at bay. “If you’re so anxious to go,” he snapped, “I’m not stopping you. Just tell me where to drop you the fuck off.”

Sam flinched, his gaze snapping back to Dean, and he looked wounded, which… What the fuck? _Sam_ was the one who brought this up again, not him. How many times was he supposed to hold Sam’s hand and tell him everything he’d done was okay... especially when it really wasn’t?

“The next town is fine,” Sam finally replied in a low undertone.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tightly, his anger edging higher as the miles slipped by in silence once more. After everything Sam had done, he’d still stood by Sam, he’d offered forgiveness whether Sam deserved it or not. He wanted to tell Sam off, wanted to ask him where he got off… except that it wouldn’t help. Everything that needed to be said had been said already, and it hadn’t made a damn bit of difference. Bobby had been wrong; there was nothing left to salvage here.

When Sam interrupted his thoughts, he jumped again.

“Thank you,” Sam said quietly into the tense silence.

Dean shook his head at the unexpected statement. “For what?”

“I know you only came there to stop me. You didn’t have to stay…” Sam said, his voice thick, like he was having trouble getting the words out. There was a long pause, and Dean glanced over, started to open his mouth to say… something, he didn’t know what, but Sam interrupted, his tone cutting and sharp and unexpectedly angry, “Why didn’t you just leave when it was over?”

Dean gaped at Sam incredulously for a heartbeat, trying to make sense of Sam’s ridiculous question, before forcing his eyes back to the road. “What, I was just supposed to leave you naked and unconscious on the floor of the cathedral? That would have been classy of me,” Dean replied sarcastically. He didn’t want to be having this conversation. He peered into the darkness, looking desperately for a freeway sign with mileage for the next town, but there was nothing.

Sam stared at Dean, looking miserable. Under the weight of Sam’s expectation, he found himself talking once more. “Look,” he said slowly, “I’m not saying I’m not angry, because… I’m not gonna lie to you. You were the one that I depended on the most, and you let me down in ways that I can’t even…” Dean felt his throat closing off around the words, the hurt he’d been holding back for days suddenly welling up out of nowhere and taking him by surprise. “Shit, Sammy, you chose a demon over your own brother.”

He was shaking with tension, and he wanted to lash out, swing a punch, but that never seemed to make any kind of fucking impression. He spared a quick glance over at his brother. Sam looked devastated, and a part of Dean was glad.

“I’m sorry,” Sam rasped. “You must really hate me.”

Dean’s anger bled away as suddenly as it came, leaving him tired. “I don’t hate you, Sam.”

Sam laughed, short and harsh and disbelieving. He shifted his body away to look back out the window. “You said you were done. You said you wanted me dead. Must be pretty close…”

“What?” Dean demanded, startled. His brain finally caught up with the words. “What the fuck, Sam?” Dean asked. He thought about pulling over and just kicking his brother out of the car, screw getting to the next town. “I never said that,” he bit out through clenched teeth. “Now you’re just making shit up.”

Sam was still for a long moment. When he turned to look at Dean, his face was twisted with hurt. “You… not in so many words, maybe, but… You said Dad told you to either save me or kill me, and you were done trying to save me. How the hell else was I supposed to take that?”

Dean stared at Sam, baffled. He had to force his eyes back to the road. “I never said that, Sam.”

“Yes, you did,” Sam responded, his jaw clenched as anger finally overtook the wounded look.

Dean hit the breaks and pulled over to the side of the road; despite his promise to himself that he was done with the roadside chats, he needed to look at his brother. “I _never_ said that.” When Sam looked like he was going to argue, Dean cut him off, “Look, when exactly do you think I said that? You were hallucinating a lot when you were coming down off the blood. I think you must’ve imagined that, Sam.”

“I wasn’t hallucinating, Dean,” Sam replied indignantly. “I’m talking about what you said in the message - before Lilith.”

Dean watched Sam incredulously, not sure what to say in the face of such a blatant lie. Sam was glaring daggers at him. The silence stretched on uncomfortably as they stared at one another. Sam finally pulled out his phone and shoved it at Dean so hard that Dean almost fumbled it. “I never deleted it. Are you still going to sit there and deny it?”

Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam was staring at him with such stone-faced resentment that he just opened the phone and entered in Sam’s password once it dialed. The only way to win this one was to play the message for Sam…

The blood drained from his face as he listened to his own harsh words spilling from the phone, “Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam -- a vampire. You're not _you_ anymore. And there's no going back.” There was silence after that, and he stared at the phone uncomprehendingly until the voice came on, asking what he wanted to do with the message. He flipped the phone shut with a soft click.

Sam was turned away from him, every muscle so tense that Sam vibrated with the strain. If Dean’d thought he was sorry for his harsh words before… They’d been manipulated so thoroughly Dean didn’t even know what was real anymore. God damned Zachariah, or, hell, for that matter, he had no proof that it hadn’t been Castiel…

“I swear to God, Sammy, I didn’t leave that message. That wasn’t me. I _apologized_ , Sam.” He rested a hand on Sam’s back, suddenly needing the connection. He tried to ignore the sick feeling in his gut when Sam flinched under his touch.

“Look, the message I left was completely different. The angels, or maybe Ruby, I don’t know, but somebody must have fucked with it somehow. I said that we’re family, Sam. I said that that wasn’t gonna change no matter how bad things got.” Sam turned slowly toward Dean, the look on his face a pathetic combination of hope and disbelief. Dean kept his hand on Sam’s shoulder, gripping it tightly to punctuate his words, “I promise you, that message is _not_ what I said. That _wasn’t me_.”

Sam’s emotions played over his features for a few moments, and Dean thought that maybe Sam was actually going to listen to him this time. Somehow, though, he wasn’t surprised when the bitch-face finally won out. “Bullshit,” Sam said quietly.

Dean got out of the car, the sides too close for comfort, and strode a few feet away to try and get his swarming thoughts under control. The demons, the angels… both groups had been using them, tearing them apart - for months, and the two of them had just been bending over and taking it. Dean wrapped his arms around himself, gripping tight enough to bruise. The pain felt familiar and warm. He pressed harder, and it centered him, let him find a coherent response in the maelstrom.

All he had was his family. Somehow, he’d forgotten that.

He moved back to the door. Resting his hands on the top of the door frame of the car, he leaned in, so he could see Sam. “Why would I lie about it?” Dean asked calmly. “If I’d really left that message, I wouldn’t have any reason to say I didn’t.”

Sam’s eyes shut tightly, but a sense of betrayal still managed to shine through. After a moment, he opened his eyes but kept his wounded gaze locked on the seat. “I would’ve listened, Dean… I was so close to turning my back on Ruby, on the whole thing… If you’d said that, I would have listened.”

“They played us, Sam. Somehow, they changed that message. They manipulated you… _us_ , into doing their dirty work for them.”

Sam finally looked up at Dean. His voice was small and needy, “I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean lowered himself back into the car and shut the door, needing to get back on the road, needing the sense of freedom that movement brought.

The silence stretched on once more, and Dean was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice Sam inching closer. Sam’s hand landed tentatively on Dean’s thigh, directly over where the bandage was. He stroked lightly, and Dean almost swerved off the road. “Jesus, Sam,” Dean muttered as he forced the car back under control. “What the…”

“What are we doing?” Sam whispered into Dean’s ear, cutting his words off. The hand slipped higher, and Dean’s grip tightened on the steering wheel.

“Sam, what… what the fuck?” Dean managed to get out breathlessly, barely keeping himself under control. He barely managed to hide the lust that raged uncontrollably when Sam invaded his space, when Sam took control. He wanted to stop the car and get the hell away from his brother. He wanted push himself into Sam’s embrace and never let go.

Sam’s hand moved up to cup around the back of Dean’s neck, and Sam’s thumb stroked over the sensitive flesh behind his ear. Dean’s breathing almost matched his heart rate, fast and staccato. It was hard to think. “Stop…” he managed to breathe out.

“You like this, Dean,” Sam whispered. “You can’t tell me you don’t.” Sam dragged his nail over Dean’s skin, pressed in until it burned. Dean leaned into Sam’s grip, completely unable, in that moment, to say no.

“Tell me you don’t want this, and I’ll stop.” The nail cut into his skin, and Dean felt the wet trickle of blood slip down the side of his throat. Sam’s warm breath skated across his neck, and then Sam’s tongue followed. Dean’s world narrowed dangerously until he was lost in the overwhelming sensation of Sam’s touch.

Dean almost missed the deer standing calmly in the middle of the road. He had to swerve to avoid hitting it, which sent the car into a 360-spin before coming to a stop in the middle of the empty road.

When he finally got himself under control enough to drive, Sam had moved back to his side of the car, his body language completely closed off. Dean couldn’t figure out how to bring up what had happened, so he just drove.

~o0O0o~

Dean opened the passenger door slowly, careful to brace it so that Sam’s weight didn’t send it flying open to spill his brother’s sleeping body down onto the concrete. When it was open far enough for Dean to get a hand in, he rested the door against his hip and reached in to touch Sam’s shoulder gently. “Come on, Sam. You need to wake up.”

“Dean?” Sam asked groggily, and shifted himself upright. “We at the church?”

Sam looked pale and miserable; the fine tremors were back. Dean exhaled loudly in disbelief. “No. We’re in Corpus Christi, but we’re stopping for the night,” Dean stated, his voice final.

Sam rested his head back against the seat. “I think i‘s back,” Sam slurred.

“Thank you, Captain Obvious,” Dean muttered tiredly, but Sam started slipping down again, and Dean had to dive to keep him from falling out of the car. Dean cursed under each breath and pulled Sam around. Slapping his face until he woke up enough, Dean helped him stumble across the lot and into the room. Shivering helplessly, Sam crawled onto the closest bed and pulled the covers around him while Dean went back out to the car and grabbed the rest of their stuff.

Sam was a little more alert when Dean got back. They hadn’t really talked since the confrontation in the car. Part of Dean was scared shitless to cross over to Sam and ask him what he needed. It’s not like Dean didn’t already know the answer. The blood seemed to help, no matter how temporarily but Dean was at a loss as to why.

“Dean?” Sam whimpered from the bed. “We should go to the church. Maybe Castiel can tell us how to break this. It’s… maybe it’s just a curse. A curse can be broken.”

Sam sounded so lost, and Dean suddenly felt sick – he’d never seriously considered the possibility that this couldn’t be fixed. His brain flashed on the phone message - vampire. _Fuck no_.

He needed to do something. Anything. He sat on the bed next to Sam, not letting his thoughts continue down the path they’d started. He slipped a knife from his pocket and pressed it into Sam’s hand.

Sam’s breath caught sharply. “God, Dean. The things I want…” Sam snapped the small knife open with a flick of his wrist. He turned it back and forth just enough that the blade flashed in the light.

Dean reached a finger out to touch the flat of it. “You’re getting worse again,” Dean said, trying to stay focused on the practical. “We need to deal with this before we get to the church.” Dean started to pull his hand back, but Sam suddenly caught his wrist in a tight grip. The knife in Sam’s other hand touched against Dean’s outstretched finger.

Dean barely felt it, but his knife was sharp, and his blood welled up against the edge, bright and red and thick. The drop slid down his finger, leaving a long red trail. The sting built as he watched Sam’s mouth glide in close. Sam inched out his tongue to lightly skim the bottom of Dean’s finger before running it up to the tip and sucking it in. Sam looked… blissful, and Dean couldn’t look away, fascinated by the subtle seduction of what Sam was doing. Sam tongued over the tip, lingering there before sliding down until the entire length was enveloped in wet warmth. Sam sucked it hard, once and then again, before pulling off of it with a quiet moan.

“Dean…” he whispered, his grip on Dean’s wrist tightening. “You have to… I need…”

Dean felt a slight tremor of fear creep up his spine before Sam suddenly body-slammed him onto the bed. Sam straddled his hips, gathered both of Dean’s wrists in a hard grip and pressed them back against the headboard. The stitches in Dean’s forearm ground against skin and cloth painfully.

“What…” Dean started, struggling against Sam’s punishing one-handed grasp.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam growled. He pushed Dean’s head roughly to the side; the hilt of the carelessly held blade connected hard against Dean’s forehead, making the room spin, and exposed Dean’s neck at the same time. Dean bucked up against Sam, panic driving his body, determined to push Sam away before whatever this was escalated out of control.

Abruptly, Dean realized that he could feel Sam’s erection through the layers of denim between them; he froze, unable to process what he could so clearly feel. Sam was… hard. Sam was getting off on this. He needed to stop this, needed to get away, but he couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t make himself breathe.

Sam didn’t seem to notice the panic that was holding Dean paralyzed. The knife pressed against his neck, cold and sharp with the power to change everything. It lingered for only a moment before it caressed down his skin, leaving a fiery line of heat in its wake. Dean felt his thoughts begin to still. Sam slid down Dean’s body until his torso was a long line pressed against Dean’s own, trapping Dean against the bed and keeping him safe, which… Dean knew the last thing he should be feeling was safe, but he felt the tension flow out of him as he released control to Sam, his muscles going loose and pliant in his brother’s grasp.

Well, every muscle except his cock, which was staining now, begging to be released from the confines of his clothes. Sam writhed against him, made him whimper with need, but Sam didn’t reach down. Instead Sam mouthed against Dean’s throat, biting against the skin and sucking hard.

Dean turned his head, further exposing his neck to Sam, and arched up to increase the contact between them. Sam sucked harder, and the ache and burn filled Dean’s consciousness until the only thing he could think about was the hot inferno of Sam’s mouth on his neck. He could feel his blood leaving him in a rush, the harsh roar accompanied by the pounding beat of his pulse. Sam clung to him, sucking at the wound until the world was spinning around them both.

He lost himself in sensation, everything muted in soft grays, and he let himself float there, free from everything that had been crowding his thoughts for months. It was a relief. In some ways, he missed the simplicity of hell.

He didn’t notice Sam’s hand snaking down to unbutton his jeans, didn’t notice the same hand pushing his boxers down, but when Sam’s hand gripped hard around his dick, he came back to himself with a gasp. Sam’s leg was slung across Dean’s thighs, and his other arm was across Dean’s chest. The weight of Sam’s body still kept Dean pinned, but he started struggling anyway. “Sam, don’t…” Dean panted out, but his hips thrust forward in a silent betrayal.

Sam leaned in until his lips brushed the curve of Dean’s ear. “Please, Dean. Let me take care of you. Let me give you what you need… _for once_ ,” Sam begged, his voice sounding more than a little bit desperate.

“What… Sam… wait…” Dean’s voice trailed off into a whimper as Sam ran his hand down, leaving Dean’s dick to cup his balls, massaging them softly between long fingers. Dean bucked up, trying to throw Sam off of him, but their legs were tangled together. Sam’s weight was pressing against him, and he couldn’t quite get his body to sync up enough with his brain to effectively wrestle.

“Sam…” Dean started again, reaching down to grab Sam’s wrist and pull it off. Sam immediately let his balls go, broke the ineffective hold Dean had managed and gripped both of Dean’s wrists. Sam pulled them back above Dean’s head to pin them there in a solid grasp. Sam shifted until he was lying fully on top of Dean once more, the weight of him solid along Dean’s body from chest to legs.

Dean shifted uncomfortably, the loss of Sam’s touch a heavy ache in his balls. His breath came out fast and labored. He wanted this; he couldn’t let it happen.

Dean’s mouth opened to say something, but Sam growled and dropped his head to let their mouths collide. He plunged his tongue hungrily into Dean’s mouth, exploring with deep thrusts, possessive and claiming, and effectively cut off Dean’s ability for speech.

Sam reached down between them again, his hand enveloping Dean’s cock, and Dean wondered how he was supposed to stop something he wanted so damn badly that he ached with it. Sam stroked forcefully up and down his length, sending fireworks of pleasure coursing through him. When Sam drew back, Dean had to swallow back his moan.

“Want you…” Sam said before Dean could form a coherent protest, and then Sam leaned back in, biting Dean’s lips hard enough to burn before dipping his tongue back inside.

It had been forever since Dean had this - their bodies fitted tightly together, just the two of them, uncomplicated with anything but need. Sam started thrusting his tongue into Dean’s mouth rhythmically, in time with the hard jerks he was giving Dean’s cock. Dean pushed back into Sam’s grip, unable to stop, and lost himself in the warm, heavy desire that radiated out from his groin in waves. He knew any minute he was going to lose control. Sam slid a wet tongue down the side of Dean’s face, until his lips found the lobe of Dean’s ear; Sam sucked it into his mouth, swirling it around with his tongue before biting down hard. Pleasure and pain blended together in a heady mix, causing Dean to writhe against Sam desperately, but somehow he couldn’t quite let himself give in, couldn’t let himself have what he wanted.

Sam released Dean’s ear with a final slow lick, whispering, “Come for me, Dean.”

It was like Dean’s body had been waiting for permission, because suddenly Dean was coming into Sam’s hand, hard waves of pleasure rocking through his body, over and over again. He yelled, not sure in that moment if it was out of pain or pleasure, not knowing if this brief moment of closeness was going to cost him everything he wanted, everything he desperately needed.

The orgasm slipped away, over too soon. Trying to find the energy to move, he lay there for a while. Sleep pulled at him hard, but Sam’s soft sound of distress pulled him out of it. Dean was a little surprised to notice that, with the exception of his open jeans and displaced boxers, they were both almost completely dressed.

Though he’d kept his leg slung over Dean’s, Sam had slipped to Dean’s side, and his groin was pressed tightly against Dean’s hip; his fingers had slipped under the top of his own pants, his face pressed into the pillow next to Dean’s head, and Dean could feel how hard he still was.

Between post-orgasm and blood-loss, Dean felt the cloying need to let unconsciousness claim him, but he managed to raise a hand and let it fall against Sam’s shoulder. “Sammy?” he scraped out, his voice gravelly and low.

Sam moved slightly, grinding his hard cock against Dean’s hip. Almost as quickly as he had started, he stopped and jerked away to roll over and sit up on the far side of the bed. Dean managed to open his mouth to say something, but Sam cut him off with an anguished, “God, Dean, I’m so sorry.” Before Dean could begin to process that, Sam was off the bed and slamming the door of the bathroom.

Dean barely managed to think about following Sam before oblivion claimed him.

~o0O0o~

 _Alistair crouches down to kneel where he’d just unceremoniously dumped Dean onto the ground. “So how about it, Dean?” Alistair whispers cruelly into his ear, “You want to pick up the knife? Put an end to all your suffering?” He screams when Alistair pushes against the ruined skin of his chest, fingers sliding slickly in the wet mess. His body arches up into the touch, increasing the torment, but he can’t stop it. He lost control of what was his a long time ago._

 _Instead he goes with the only thing he can control: his shouted, “Fuck you,” reverberating around the walls of their cage._

 _Alistair chuckles softly, but he does remove his hand from Dean, and Dean claims that as a victory however slight, however temporary. “Good night, boys,” Alistair calls out sweetly as he leaves._

 _His injuries are already knitting back together, and he slowly rolls over to sob miserably into the floor. Sam’s touch, when it comes, is soft and tender against his hair. He pulls himself into Sam’s lap, letting his face come to rest against the bend of Sam’s hip. “God, Sam,” he croaks out. “I need…”_

 _“I know,” Sam answers, his voice almost as wrecked as Dean’s. Sam shifts under Dean, coaxing him to lay back. Dean lets the gentle hands guide him, lets them cradle his head between strong, welcoming legs. A fresh spasm sends Dean scrabbling against the ground, and Sam strokes down his side, a quiet counterpoint against the tremors in his body. Sam bends over him and tenderly licks against Dean’s stomach, running his tongue through the blood Dean knows covers him, licking away the evidence of his weakness._

 _Dean loses himself in the tingling pleasure of Sam’s tongue slowly moving and circling just above his dick, but the pain of healing bones and terrible wounds escalates until the frisson of pleasure isn’t enough anymore. “Please…” Dean moans softly. Sam’s hands wrap tightly around his own, pinning them down to his sides. The pain of knitting ribs jack-knifes sharply through his body, making him scream, making him writhe, and at the same moment, Sam wraps soft lips around Dean’s cock and sucks him down deeply._

 _Sam is wrapped around Dean, enveloping him, but it isn’t enough, not yet. “Please…” Dean whispers once more. Sam grips his hands more tightly, until they ache as he works his tongue over Dean’s flesh, pulling his thickening cock more deeply down. Sam swallows, the muscles of his throat working around Dean, sending waves of pleasure spiraling from his dick outward, blending with the pain until Dean can’t distinguish between the two sensations anymore. He spreads his legs further apart, exposing himself, allowing his brother more room to work and opening himself up to the only comfort he’s been allowed in years._

 _He can feel the climax build deep within him. **Too soon…**_

 _“No…” he moans, but Sam already knows, and one of Sam’s hands lets go of Dean’s to slip around the base of his dick tightly, holding him just at the edge. The pain wars with pleasure for dominance, the two mixing together and flowing through him, and he finds himself whispering a long string of “Need you, Sammy, God… want you, need you so much, please…” The words tumble out of him until he has no more voice and he’s forced to mouth the words against the silence, but Sam never stops, never falters until, just after the worst of the agony crests through him, Sam relaxes his hand and lets him go._

 _The wrenching ecstasy of his release chases the torment away…_

“Dean? Dude, let’s go.” The weight of Sam’s hand on his shoulder pulled him back to reality with a jolt. His head snapped up off his folded hands, causing the stitches that decorated his neck to twinge painfully. He pulled at the collar of his turtle-neck self-consciously, uncomfortable under the priest’s patient gaze.

Sam gave Dean’s shoulder a quick squeeze before dropping his arm down, and Dean awkwardly stood up from the pew, the room only spinning around him a little bit this time. He tried to meet Sam’s eyes, but although Sam immediately turned away, Dean noted that he stayed close as they followed the priest down into the crypts.

The path they took was almost maze-like and by the time they stood expectantly before the closed door the old priest had led them to, Dean was leaning heavily against his brother. The priest gave Dean a concerned look before he left them there with a nod, and Dean breathed a sigh of relief that the man hadn’t decided to question them.

Sam pushed the door open; it creaked loudly, causing Dean to smile a little to himself, having watched this scene play out in a hundred horror movies. He followed Sam into the room, and they stopped abruptly. Castiel was kneeling on the ground in front of an altar with hundreds of candles lit upon it, his head bowed silently in prayer. Dean could see him swaying slightly as he knelt there, but he looked uninjured, or at least, the back of his trench coat wasn’t stained with blood. That horrific image made Dean’s stomach clench for a moment before he forced the unwanted thought away; Cas didn’t really need Dean’s sympathy anyway.

They stood there, watching in silence. Somehow neither Dean nor his brother wanted to disturb the solemn air in the little room. Sam was the first to break, coughing politely, but Castiel still didn’t turn. Damn fool angel could have been stabbed in the back by now, but, well, yeah, of course, Cas didn’t really have to worry about that kind of thing. Sam turned and shrugged at Dean, his posture and expression broadcasting that he wasn’t sure what the fuck to do, so Dean stepped forward and put his hand on Castiel’s shoulder. The angel kept his hands clasped in front of him in silent prayer, his head resting upon them, but after an uncomfortable moment he slowly looked up at Dean.

His face remained passive, even as he met Dean’s stare. “Dean,” he said, with a slight inflection of acknowledgement.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean replied, his voice quiet and echoey in the cave-like room. “You uh… looks like you made it out of there, huh?”

Castiel nodded slightly and replied simply, “Yes,” before reaching a hand up, a silent request for aid. Dean wasn’t sure he had the strength to help the angel, but he held his hand out anyway. Cas stopped, resting a cold hand against Dean’s cheek instead, his stoic eyes growing wide with concern. “You are injured,” he stated, and then looked around, his eyes finally finding Sam, who’d moved around to stand next to Dean.

Sam held a hand out, and Castiel flinched back, landing ass first as he hit the ground. “Sa…Samuel?” Cas stuttered, like he’d suddenly forgotten who Dean’s brother was. Dean looked at Sam, confused, but Sam’s gaze was locked on Castiel, a small frown creasing his forehead. Castiel put his hands on the ground and rose unsteadily to his feet, backing away until he hit the wall and was forced to stop. He put his hands against the wall to steady himself, and his eyes slid shut, his head falling forward. Dean moved toward him to try to help, but Sam’s unexpected grip on his shoulder held him in place.

Dean looked back at Sam in confusion, and Sam said, “Just give him a moment, Dean. He’s obviously been weakened from that fight or something.”

A couple of minutes passed, both of them watching the silent angel. Finally Dean couldn’t take it anymore; he shrugged off Sam’s hold and stepped close to Cas. “Hey man, is there something we can do to help you?”

Cas slowly looked up and met Dean’s gaze. He looked… lost… weak. Dean had never seen him like that, and it threw him. “What happened?” Dean asked, tentatively allowing some concern to show in his voice.

“I am sorry,” Castiel replied, keeping his gaze locked on Dean’s face. “The fight was… hard. It left me… weakened.” He cast a nervous look over at Sam before bringing his gaze quickly back to Dean. “But, I will recover.”

“Well, that’s… cryptic as usual.” Dean waited with growing irritation, wondering if Cas would take the hint and give them some more details, but Cas just kept staring until Dean had to talk again just to break the uncomfortable silence.

“Yeah, so, we got a question we’re hoping you can answer. Sam here,” Dean took a breath and nodded his chin towards Sam, “he killed Lilith after all. I couldn’t stop him, but,” he rushed to add, suddenly needing to defend Sam’s actions, “he managed to close the gate, so it’s all good. We just… we need to know, is Lucifer stopped? Did that actually reset all the seals, or are we still staring down at one door between us and the fucking apocalypse?”

Castiel had gone even paler during Dean’s speech, and he was gazing at Dean with an inscrutable look on his face, as though he expected to divine some sort of wisdom if he looked at Dean long enough. The pause was getting uncomfortable when Castiel finally replied, “I did not know that that could be done. I will have to… think on the answer. In the meantime,” Castiel’s eyes narrowed in concern, “be careful, Dean.”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but Castiel was gone. “God damn it!” he swore furiously, swaying on his feet. Sam was almost instantly at his side, a hand on his elbow to steady him. “Now what?”

Sam looked at him, a puzzled frown on his face. A lost, “I don’t know,” was all he could offer.

~o0O0o~

Dean’s dreams were filled with broken bits of images and fear interspersed with feelings of shame and failure. When Sam shook him awake, however, he was filled with a sense of loss so profound it made his eyes burn. He shook his head, willing the memories away. It had been so much easier before…

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said quietly. “I got us a room.”

“What?” Dean mumbled, confused. He hadn’t yet managed to open his eyes, but he could tell it wasn’t dark yet. “Why’re we stopping already?” He dragged his eyelids apart, so he could peer at his brother.

“You need sleep. You’ve lost a lot of blood,” Sam had the good grace to flush a little with embarrassment, “and you haven’t really slept in days.” Dean opened his mouth to argue, but Sam cut him off, “Passing out doesn’t count as sleep, idiot.” Dean snapped his mouth shut with a scowl.

Sam pulled on Dean’s elbow, coaxing him out of the car, and steadied him over to the room. Dean played along until Sam opened the door, but he pulled up short when he saw the room, grabbing the door jamb to avoid going in. Unreasonable anger flared up out of nowhere. “What the fuck’s up with the king?”

“It’s all they had, Dean,” Sam sighed tolerantly, pushing him into the room. Dean tried to look back at the parking lot, because he didn’t remember it being all that full, but Sam shut the door behind them, cutting off his view. The bed was irresistible, and Dean moved to sit down wearily, stretching back and luxuriating in the feeling of being out of the car. His car was roomy, but as a place to sleep, she left a lot to be desired. He wasn’t sure what he was so upset about anyway. It’s not like they’d never shared a king before. He felt Sam pulling off his shoes; he considered making some smart remark about foot servants, but he fell asleep before he could complete the thought.

~o0O0o~

Dean didn’t want to wake up, didn’t want to lose the feeling of Sam wrapped around him, their naked bodies pressed solidly together, Sam’s hard dick tucked close, warm against the cleft of his ass.

Sam ran his tongue, soft and wet, over the skin of Dean’s shoulder. Dean moaned, pushing back and inviting more. Sam’s teeth closed over the skin of his neck, biting hard and sending waves of pleasure-pain rocketing through him.

He froze in sudden panic. This wasn’t a dream.

Dean was up and out of the bed faster than he could process his actions. He had his hand on the door and the knob twisted almost open before he managed to stop himself. He couldn’t run out of the room butt naked, no matter how tempting it was. He glanced behind him to look frantically for his clothes, but before he was fully turned, he felt himself slammed bodily against the door.

“No, Dean, you don’t get to run away from this… from me. Not this time,” Sam said, his voice fierce and raspy.

Dean started to push back but stopped when Sam’s dick rubbed against him, reminding him of the fact that they were both naked… and both hard. He closed his eyes and pressed against the cold metal door instead. Praying for the cold to fucking do something, he vaguely wished that he could merge through the icy metal and out the other side. Sam only moved in closer, trapping him firmly against the barrier. The contrast between Sam’s feverishly hot body and the almost painfully cold door scrambled his focus; it magnified the conflicting impulses and waves of unwanted desire pulsing through his veins. “Sam, get off of me,” he begged, his voice barely a whisper.

Sam didn’t listen, just shifted closer and slipped his legs to either side of Dean’s to trap him even more thoroughly. Ignoring Dean’s token resistance and easily winning the contest of strength, Sam grabbed Dean’s right hand and pulled it away from the knob. He slammed Dean’s wrist against the door above his head with a loud thud and reached up to force Dean’s head to the side and expose Dean’s neck. “You want this, Dean,” he growled against the flesh under his mouth.

Sam’s warm breath ghosted over the side of Dean’s neck and sent shivers racing through his body. Sam licked along his throat, wet and messy, before asking in a puzzled, quiet voice, “Why do you keep trying to fight it?”

Dean twisted in Sam’s grip, almost breaking the hold, but Sam anticipated the move, got him back under control and slammed him roughly against the door once more. Sam sucked against his neck, pulling the skin into his mouth until it burned, a slowly building intensity that had Dean writhing against his brother helplessly. Sam scraped his teeth against Dean’s sensitized skin before letting it go. “You’re mine,” Sam snarled, biting at his neck hard enough to bruise.

Sam thrust against Dean and, already slick with pre-come, slipped easily between his ass cheeks to nudge dangerously against his hole. Dean’s breaths came out in short, staccato bursts, fast enough to leave him feeling light-headed; it was hard to think. Sweat slicked his skin and pooled in the sway of his lower back. He should have been trying to get away, to gain an advantage, but instead he writhed back, hard enough that Sam’s dick breached him slightly before Dean’s tight muscles kept Sam out. A low, needy keening noise escaped from the back of his throat.

Sam’s arm slipped around him, coming up against Dean’s neck and holding him tight. Dean tried to draw in a breath and failed. His hands frantically wrapped around Sam’s arm, trying to pull it away, but it was like being held in a solid vise. Sam was a furnace behind him, and he could feel Sam’s heartbeat, solid and steady and reassuring; his focus narrowed in, until all he knew was the pounding that seemed to be answered by the pulse in his dick.

Sam yanked him back from the door, swung him around, and threw him down on the bed. Dean came back to his senses long enough to force himself to scramble back, gasping for breath, but Sam was on him before he made it very far, flipping him onto his stomach and straddling his hips. Sam caught his arms in a tight, painful pin against his back. “Lemme go,” Dean ground out, his bruised neck making speech difficult.

“Why?” Sam growled, sinking his teeth into the back of Dean’s neck hard enough to make him cry out. “You aren’t leaving me, Dean. I’m not gonna let you leave me. Not again.” Sam bit him again a little lower, then again, trailing the bites down the side of Dean’s spine and leaving a long trail of stinging marks from his neck all the way down to just above his ass.

Overwhelmed with sensation, Dean whimpered, and pushed back with his ass. He needed to feel Sam against him, inside him, needed Sam more than he needed to breathe. Sam’s fingers glided wetly against his ass before they sank between, sank down, sank into him; a burning ache trailing all the way into his core. He relaxed against the intrusion and welcomed the invading fingers in.

Sam pumped them in and out, and Dean pushed back, urging them deeper. He was being split in half, and Dean wanted this, wanted to let the burn fill him up and consume him until there was nothing left but the two of them. He hung there, on the edge of giving in, giving over completely, but a tiny part of himself still clung to the idea that this could kill the broken remains of his relationship with Sam. He couldn’t let himself do that. “Stop, just stop,” he begged, his writhing body giving lie to his anxious words.

“No,” Sam growled back, forcing another finger inside, and Dean had to fight back a moment of panic when it occurred to him that Sam might be going for the whole fist. “You don’t really want me to,” he stated, his voice tinged with annoyance, then his hand was gone, and Dean couldn’t keep himself from crying out with loss.

Sam swung his hand down against Dean’s ass, hard and stinging, hit him a second time before hissing out, “Stop fighting me, Dean.”

Dean struggled to hold back a moan as Sam ran his hand over Dean’s stinging backside before plunging his fingers back inside, pressing in deep before he just… stopped. Dean held his breath, waiting for Sam to push in more or pull out or fucking do something, _anything_ , but still Sam didn’t move. Dean whimpered, deep in the back of his throat, and it sounded loud in the quiet room filled with nothing but their heavy breaths. His body twitched, shifted, and he tried to buck his hips, but he could barely move; Sam still had him tightly pinned.

“Tell me you want it, Dean, or I really will stop.” Sam sounded so fucking calm, and Dean was shaking so badly he thought he might shatter.

“God, Sammy…” Dean sobbed out. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t admit what he needed out loud.

“Tell me you want it,” Sam repeated harshly.

“Sammy…” Dean whispered.

“Tell me,” Sam snarled, accentuating each word with a deep, satisfying thrust, “You. Want. It.” And then Sam pulled out of him roughly. Released his arms. Let him go. Moved off the bed.

Dean felt something crumble inside of him. “Please, Sammy, please… I need you.”

Sam put a knee back on the bed, leaned in and grasped the back of Dean’s neck, heavy and restraining, and then moved in closer. He let his breath play over Dean’s ear for a moment before whispering, “Good boy.”

There was a moment of stillness, of building anticipation, and then Sam slid between his legs panther-like and pushed forward, sheathing himself in Dean’s body with one forceful shove. Dean welcomed the searing pain of entry, pushed back until their bodies met in a solid sensual line and then pulled forward to match his brother thrust for thrust. Sam grabbed Dean’s hands, forcing one down against the bed and twisting the other up behind Dean’s back, effectively immobilizing him. Sam let his lips trail over the skin behind Dean’s ear and whispered, “You’re mine, Dean. I’m in charge,” before he pulled out and then sank in even more deeply than he had before.

Dean closed his eyes tightly as Sam moved, trying desperately to contain the flood of emotions that were suddenly coursing through him. He’d wanted this for so long. He’d never dared to wish that it might actually happen. He felt a tear hit the side of his nose, slide over the side of it and down his cheek. A moment later he felt Sam’s tongue chasing the path it had traveled. He bit the inside of his mouth hard, willing himself back under control.

“Let it go, Dean,” Sam commanded, quiet and intense, before picking up speed and setting a pace that drove all his thoughts from his head. Sam eased his hold and dropped Dean’s hand down onto the bed. Dean surged back into Sam until their bodies were slamming together and Dean’s dick was aching for release. Dean’s hand jerked down almost of its own will, but Sam slammed it back against the bed. “Let me take care of you,” Sam panted out.

Panic sprang up out of nowhere, threatening to overwhelm him, and he started struggling to get away. Sam tightened his grip, but his thrusts remained steady. “I’ve got you, just let go.”

Withdrawing into himself, his thoughts in turmoil, Dean’s dick began to lose interest. The press and pull in his brain, too full of everything that should have led him down the path of insanity long ago, slowly began to win the contest against the pulse and thrum and needful grasping of his body. He desperately tried to focus on Sam’s fingers around his wrists, Sam’s breath caressing his skin, Sam in him and around him, but it was all slipping away… this was never anything that he should have wanted, never anything that he deserved…

He heard Sam swear above him, felt him transfer both wrists to a one handed grip. “No, Dean, I told you, you don’t get to hide from this. I need you here, damn it.”

He felt Sam shift, and then the flat of a blade pressed against his shoulder. Dean’s body roared back to life, and Sam bore the knife down hard against his back. The dull blade left a welted trail of fire where it traveled along his spine before Sam brought it back up to do again, and then again.

Sam continued to thrust inside of him, and Dean cried out as everything whirled out of control. Pain and pleasure wrapped around his thoughts until all he could feel, all he knew, was Sam. Pleasure and awareness spiraled down to his dick, focusing there until it had nowhere to go but out. Wave after wave pulsed through him, built up to dizzying intensity before spiraling lazily back down to leave him wrung out, tired, and at peace.

Sam collapsed to the side of him, pulling Dean in close and tangling their limbs together. “Thank you,” Sam whispered, and dropped a kiss on top of Dean’s head before oblivion claimed them both.

  
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[Part Three](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/18083.html)   
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	3. An Offering For Sin - Part Three

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**An Offering For Sin - Part Three**   
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_Sam collapses at Dean’s feet, his chains pulled completely taut and his wrists nothing but ruined masses of sores and bone and blood. Sam had struggled so hard when Alistair was here earlier that he pulled both of his shoulders out of joint. Dean can’t help but worry – Sam doesn’t heal like he does. They haven’t let Dean off the rack in months. To be so close to Sam, yet not able to touch, is a far worse agony than all of the tortures Alistair has subjected them to over the years._

 _“Sammy,” Dean manages to whisper hoarsely before another healing tremor flashes through him like lightning and he cries out weakly. Dean tries again when it passes, “Sammy, please.”_

 _Sam doesn’t move; a shuddering breath shakes his body in response to Dean’s voice, but there’s nothing else. Dean pulls helplessly against the bindings that hold him in place, oblivious to the extra strain it puts on his overtaxed limbs; Sam is his strength, the reassurance of Sam’s presence a desperate need. This silence is devastating._

 _“Dean,” Sam finally responds, his voice broken and dead._

 _Another flash of torment wracks Dean’s body, this one worse than before, a maelstrom of pain that consumes his awareness. He struggles futilely to keep his cries inside, only keeps up the fight because he doesn’t know how to stop, but the cries wrench themselves from his unwilling throat once more._

 _Sam whimpers once, tired and lost. Abject misery stretches across his features, chasing him back to life; Sam’s completely unable to ignore Dean’s agony, even after all this time. He throws himself against his chains in a vain, desperate attempt to get to his brother. Failing, his anguished cries blend hopelessly with Dean’s._

 _The moment eventually passes, but it leaves them both gasping, leaves Sam on his knees, sobbing out ragged breaths of defeat. When Sam finally looks up at him, there’s almost nothing left of sanity in his eyes. Dean tries to hold on to him, to hold his gaze, but he slips away. “I can’t do this anymore, Dean,” Sam coughs out onto the stone. “I’m sorry, I’m not… not strong enough.”_

 _Dean tries to cut Sam off; “Sam, stop,” he pleads. He can’t bear to hear what Sam is saying, but Sam doesn’t seem to listen._

 _“Alistair says… if I do what he wants…” Sam gasps out, “If I pick up the knife… he’ll let me forget…” Sam looks up at him with a face that could break an angel, “I can’t die, Dean.” Sam’s breath hitches on a sob. “I **need** to forget. I need this to be over,” he whispers, eyes begging Dean to understand._

 _And Dean feels the last of his battered defenses crack…_

Dean sucked in a trembling breath as he clawed his way slowly back to consciousness. The pillow under his face was wet, and something heavy was holding him down. Panic, sharp and hot, ripped through his chest. “No!” he yelled out weakly, struggling to free himself from the restraints.

“Dean, stop it. You’re okay,” Sam murmured into Dean’s hair. It was Sam – Sam’s body that lay over the top of him and tangled between his legs. Dean pulled in a deep, purposeful breath. _Just Sam_. He brought himself forcibly under control, his breath catching as he gulped down more air and fought to relax his muscles. Sam clutched him harder, mumbling reassuring nonsense through lips that were pressed against the top of Dean’s head, and that was…

Dean jerked himself free from Sam’s arms so hard he rolled all the way off the side of the bed where he landed with a solid thud. That fucking _hurt_ ; a train must have hit him in the night, he thought wretchedly… must have hit him repeatedly. He moaned out loud, and Sam’s head appeared over the side.

“Dean?” Sam held out a hand towards him. Dean flinched back and scrambled away, only then realizing that he was completely, stark, fucking naked. Sam had that stupid scrunched look on his face that seemed to happen whenever he thought Dean’d gone insane. Dean scowled back, but after what they’d done last night, Dean was inclined to wonder the same thing. Noticing his clothes lying in a heap under the table, he snagged his jeans from the pile and pulled them on clumsily.

“Dean?” Sam slowly sat up on the side of the bed; he sounded a lot more wary now.

Dean remained silent; any words he might have been able to come up with would only have been blocked by the brick in his throat anyway. He tried to swallow but whimpered instead. He spared a moment of irritation at himself for the irrelevant emotions that seemed to be forcing their way out.

He stood up to pull his jeans on the rest of the way and nearly fell on his face. Sam appeared at his side in an instant, steadying him with a solid grip on his shoulders. Dean froze, his brain suddenly incapable of forming a rational thought.

“Dean…” Sam whispered and pulled him into an embrace. Dean reacted blindly and threw a punch that caught Sam in the jaw and sent him stumbling back against the bed.

Sam turned back slowly, bringing a hand up to rub at his jaw while he tentatively rested his ass on the side of the bed. He exhaled, sharp with self-recrimination, and then looked up at Dean with a veiled expression. “Guess I deserved that…” he said quietly.

“Damn straight you deserved that!” Dean flung back furiously. Sam flinched like he’d been hit again, and all the fight bled out of Dean as fast as it had come. He stumbled back and sat heavily on the battered old chair next to the table. He was still off his game, even with the extra sleep he’d gotten yesterday...

“What the hell was that last night?” Dean asked, hoping his voice didn’t sound as weak to Sam as it did to his own ears.

Sam stood up abruptly and threw on yesterday’s clothes before he started gathering their things. “Breakfast, and then we should head to Bobby’s.” he said as he moved, acting suddenly like nothing had fucking happened.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Sam replied dismissively before heading into the bathroom to gather the shaving kits.

“No,” Dean said, anger twisting his gut. He got up and followed Sam, standing in the doorway to block his brother from coming back into the room. “No,” he repeated, “you don’t get to pretend like nothing happened last night, or that it doesn’t matter. You don’t… we can’t… what were you even thinking, Sam? You… we… Just, Jesus Christ, Sam…”

Sam faced the sink, his hands gripping the sides of it tightly; tension curled up his arms and down his back. He was just standing there, not responding, and the full weight of what they’d done suddenly slammed into Dean. He wanted to sink through the floor and die. He deserved to go back to hell. “I think I should leave…” he managed to force out, starting to turn away. Suddenly Sam grabbed him, dragged him out of the bathroom doorway and around the corner to slam against the wall.

“No,” Sam gritted, fury twisting through his features. “Dean, you don’t get to leave me. Not again.” Sam buried his face against Dean’s neck and ran his teeth lightly over the stitches there. “Please.”

Dean wanted to give in to Sam’s quiet plea, wanted it more than anything, but… He didn’t understand why Sam was acting like this, like what they were doing was even remotely okay. There was no way Sam wanted this. He placed his hands on his brother’s shoulders and tried to push Sam away. Sam didn’t budge, his mouth close and hot, so Dean attempted words instead. “What happened last night…”

Sam’s head snapped up, his gaze fierce, “I gave you what you needed. That’s all.”

“But that’s the thing, man, you should never have had to do that.” Dean’s composure was crumbling as he added, “I shouldn’t have _needed_ that.” Sam just stared at him, and Dean couldn’t wrap his head around how everything had gotten so fucked up and out of control. “And why the hell aren’t you disgusted by me anyway?” he threw out accusingly. He pushed ineffectively against Sam’s unmovable bulk again before dropping his hands loosely down to his sides and letting his head fall back against the wall in defeat.

Sam’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Disgusted by you? I _wanted_ to do what we did. It’s not like I didn’t get off on it too.” Sam wrapped his hand around the side of Dean’s face, let his thumb play over the stubble on Dean’s chin... “What, should I be disgusted with myself, too?” he added, heavy lidded and lazy… almost predatory.

Dean started to say yes, but Sam caught Dean’s parted lips with his thumb, sealing them shut. “I lost normal a long time ago, Dean. Quit trying to protect me from what I want. I need this, too.” Sam pressed his thumb into Dean’s mouth, stroked it sensuously over Dean’s tongue. The salty caress seemed to go straight to Dean’s dick, effectively destroying Dean’s ability to protest what was happening. Completely lost, Dean wrapped his lips around Sam’s thumb and sucked down hard. Sam let out a needy moan that made Dean smile helplessly, all coherent thought shattering into pieces on the floor.

Sam pulled his thumb out of Dean’s mouth... When Dean went to chase after it, Sam replaced it with his mouth, his hands gripping the sides of Dean’s face to take control. Hot and demanding, he sealed his lips over Dean’s, and his tongue probed, demanding entrance.

Dean reached up instinctively to wrap his hands around Sam’s wrists and hold on tight. He opened eagerly under the assault and Sam swept in, colliding with Dean’s tongue so they glided together in a sloppy dance. Sam pulled back out to caress Dean’s lips only to quickly delve once more inside.

When Sam’s hands broke Dean’s hold and slid down the front of his chest, Dean became suddenly, acutely aware that all he had on were half-buttoned jeans. He started to reach down, but Sam stopped him and placed his hands purposefully against the wall. “Hands off,” Sam muttered, gaze narrowing possessively.

Sam’s teeth hungrily snagged his bottom lip; sharp pain flashed there before the metallic taste of blood started filling Dean’s mouth. Sam sucked feverishly at his bloody lip, worrying the skin. Never letting go of Dean’s mouth, Sam’s gliding fingers teased and played over Dean’s nipples until they peaked rigidly before pinching down hard. The dual assault shot straight to Dean’s groin, and he bucked up slightly before regaining control. His dick jutted out above the waistband of his open jeans, his pre-come heavy enough to leave damp patches along the edge of them.

With a pleased, breathy laugh, Sam wedged a leg between Dean's, putting pressure in just the right spot. Dean tried to resist, but Sam gave another sharp twist to Dean’s aching nipples and nipped at his lip once more. Dean rutted uncontrollably against his brother with a loud groan.

“God, you’re so hot like this,” Sam moaned against Dean’s ear, close enough to brush over the sensitive flesh as he talked. “Wanna keep you like this forever.” Sam’s voice was going lower, deeper, more lust-blown by the second. “Need you so much. Gonna make you mine.” Sam slid down Dean’s chest, their bodies gliding together until he knelt in front of Dean, his warm breath ghosting over Dean’s overeager dick.

Paused there, heavy breaths filling the room in synchronized bursts, his hands twitching restlessly at his sides, Dean stared fixedly down at his brother. Each breath of Sam’s washed, humid and heated, against Dean until every ounce of focus and attention zeroed in on what was to come. Dean whimpered, thrusting his hips forward in a silent demand for more.

Looking up to meet his eyes, Sam finally reached up, rested his hands on either side of Dean’s full erection, and smiled wickedly.

His fingers brushed over Dean’s fly. He let them linger over the buttons for a moment, pressing only lightly but hard enough to cause shivering sparks of pleasure to ripple outwards. Then he pulled the edges of cloth together and slowly… fastened them… back… together...

Dean just watched, perplexed and wanting, unable to move. Sam stood up. Dean couldn’t quite process what his brother had just done.

“Put on a shirt, and let’s go, Dean,” Sam commanded calmly. “We have a lot of miles between us and Bobby.”

“What?” Dean panted intelligently.

Sam simply moved away, picked up the bags he’d packed earlier and walked out of the room.

Dean stared hard at the door for at least a minute before his brain reengaged. He finally figured out that Sam had inexplicably put the breaks on, which… _What the fuck?_ Dean shifted uncomfortably and dropped a hand down to adjust himself. It wasn’t enough. His dick throbbed against his hand, so he flicked open the top buttons on his jeans and thumbed over the aching tip, spreading his wetness around the head.

Why the hell had Sam worked him up like this only to _walk out_?

Annoyance flashed through him, and he moved to brace his back against the wall, popping open the last few buttons so he could get a firm grip around himself. He pumped once, sending shivers of pleasure tingling over his skin. Reaching with his other hand to push his jeans down a little bit, he cupped his balls and fondled the skin between his fingers. He moaned as he moved his hands in tandem, and it was probably quite the show when the door suddenly flew open again. Sam didn’t even pause, leaving the door swinging wide to stride across the room. He grabbed both of Dean’s wrists, ripped them away and slammed them harshly against the wall over Dean’s head.

“The hell, Sam?” Dean demanded, glaring up at his brother. “Get the fuck off of me.” He tried to jerk his hands free, but Sam’s hold was secure, and Dean cursed his continuing weakness.

Sam moved his face down so it was only an inch away from Dean’s and spat out, “That’s mine, Dean. As of last night, no one touches it without my permission. Including you. Or we go back to what we were. It’s your choice.”

The thought of going back to what they were, back to Sam constantly pushing Dean away, back to the mutual distrust and aching distance… Just the thought constricted his chest and blurred his sight, but he couldn’t make himself move, couldn’t make himself speak. Sam slammed Dean’s wrists against the wall once more; Dean knew there’d be bruises later. Sam stared him down for several more heartbeats then let him go and backed slowly away without breaking eye contact.

They stared at each other long enough to feel uncomfortable, but Dean couldn’t make his brain work; he didn’t know what to do. He didn’t think he’d made a decision, but he found himself reaching slowly down, his fingers closing around the edges of his jeans. He swallowed, looked down and carefully buttoned them back up over his rock hard and still weeping cock. His face burning with arousal and embarrassment, he walked over and grabbed the shirt that Sam had left draped over the back of the chair earlier. Without looking at his brother, he slipped it on and walked out of the room barefoot to get in the car. Sam followed him out a moment later.

Sam had the keys, and Dean didn’t even think to argue who drove.

~o0O0o~

Dean shifted uncomfortably on the seat as the scenery sped by. He rubbed a hand against his thigh, wishing he could stroke higher up; Sam seemed to have a sixth sense for when he got close enough for it to do any good, and Sam’d stopped him every time. At this point, the car vibrations alone were enough to drive him crazy. His jeans were unbuttoned, Sam had seen to that almost as soon as he’d gotten in the car, and his dick was hard and straining and exposed.

Sam reached over, cupped his hand around Dean’s balls and then just left it there, unmoving. Dean whimpered and shifted, trying to increase the friction or… something. Sam gave him a warning squeeze, and he froze, easing carefully back down against the seat.

“Can we stop?” Dean finally growled, well, tried to growl. It sounded kind of pathetic even to his own ears.

Sam glanced at him indolently. “Why, you hungry? We could go through a drive-thru.”

The thought of food twisted Dean’s stomach, and he moaned out a pathetic, “No.”

It was going to be a long fucking day.

~o0O0o~

By the time Sam pulled into the motel parking lot that night, Dean was so worn, so desperately in need of Sam, that he could barely move. He stayed in the car while Sam got them a room. At least Sam’d given him a break through the middle of the day, letting him doze fitfully until an hour or two ago, when he’d woken up to Sam’s hand on his dick once more.

Sam opened the car door and held out a steady hand to pull Dean up. When he got to his feet, Dean lurched and stumbled, almost fell, into Sam’s embrace. It felt so girly Dean wanted to throw up, but he found himself curling into the warm strength Sam offered instead.

“Let’s get you inside and out of those clothes. They’ve gotta be killing you,” Sam whispered against his ear, and Dean’s dick leapt, again, at the thought.

“Hell, yeah,” Dean croaked out, his voice wrecked, which really didn’t make much sense, seeing as how he’d done jack shit all day.

Sam gave a low chuckle that ran straight to Dean’s dick. Helping Dean stumble into the room, Sam ordered, “Strip,” as soon as they were inside with the door locked.

Dean looked down and flushed. He’d hobbled across the parking lot with his dick hanging out of his pants. Thank God it was dark outside. He toyed with just saying no, but if he didn’t get to come soon… Well, he might not actually die, but, shit. While he’d never really given it much thought before, he was rapidly becoming convinced that being hard all day could cause serious damage.

He pulled his t-shirt off, tossed it to the corner of the room and followed it quickly with his jeans. He looked up challengingly at Sam and waited for his brother’s next move while trying to look strong and controlled. Of course, considering how sure he was that Sam already knew he was just seconds away from crawling across the room and begging, the whole attempt at cool was really pretty lame. Fine tremors traveled through his muscles; his pulse raced, and cold sweat pooled in uncomfortable places. He wasn’t fooling anyone.

Sam just looked at him. His expressionless gaze traveled the length of Dean’s body, coming to rest on Dean’s dick. Dean shifted uneasily from one foot to the other and cleared his throat. Sam didn’t react, and Dean was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with their relative states of undress. Or not undress. Or whatever. Dean broke first, his eyes hitting the grungy carpet, a fine sweat breaking out across his forehead and lower back.

Dean moved his hands to cover himself, and Sam finally stirred. “Don’t,” he commanded quietly. Dean’s fingers twitched, and he had to fight against his instincts, but he almost immediately managed to jerk his hands back to his sides. Sam’s stoic expression slipped, a light smile gracing his lips. He closed the distance between them, slow and panther-like, coming close, as close as he could without actually touching Dean - anywhere. “Go get in the shower,” he murmured, each word curling breathily into Dean’s ear and along every nerve.

“Yeah, that’s… yeah, okay,” Dean muttered and practically fled to the safety of the small room. The hot water felt great everywhere except where it ran over his dick. The skin was raw and sensitive, and the water burned as it cascaded over and down. Dean turned into it, seeking more, the burn somehow soothing against the throbbing pulse of his erection. He braced his hands against the showerhead wall and closed his eyes, letting the water pound against him.

Completely off guard, he tensed when he felt Sam’s hands on his back. He started to jerk up, but Sam held him in place, digging fingers into Dean’s tense muscles until he began to relax. Sam’s strong hands traveled over his skin and loosened muscles that had been tense for days. The press of Sam's hands narrowed Dean's awareness to the connection they shared, and the noise of the shower cocooned them, shielding them from the weight of everything that pushed and pulled and tried to break them apart. Sam kept at it until he was pliant and boneless everywhere except for the slow burning ache in his dick. He wanted nothing more than to sink down to the bottom of the tub and never move again; only his need for Sam’s hands in the only place Sam _wouldn’t fucking go_ kept him standing.

When Sam stopped abruptly, Dean let out a moan of protest, but Sam only gripped his hip tightly and pushed against his back, forcing him to lean forward until his forearms were flat against the tile and his butt was pushing back against Sam. Sam’s hands moved over his ass, digging into the muscle and sending tingles of pleasure pulsing through his body. Dean shifted, desire heavy between his legs; he moved his feet apart, unable to resist offering himself in an open invitation.

Rubbing smooth, lazy circles over the sides of his ass, Sam’s hands gradually traveled closer together until Dean’s entire focus was narrowed to the thumbs hovering close to his hole. They teased around and beside and over, never pressing in, until Dean couldn’t help it and shoved back, seeking more.

Sharp pain flashed across the skin of his ass, a brief, hard crack of skin against skin, and Sam gripped his hip harshly, hard enough to bruise, holding him still with one hand. The other disappeared for a moment before coming back slicked with soap. The soap changed the way Sam’s skin glided over his, changing the sensation and making it… more. More sensuous, more seductive. Sam smoothed the soap across Dean’s cheeks, small slick circles slipping and pressing into the muscle, lingering there long enough to tease a needy, helpless whimper from Dean before, finally, moving over his hole. Sam slipped inside and Dean’s body offered no resistance, grasping at Sam’s fingers with tiny spasms in an attempt to pull him in more, to pull him in deeper.

Abruptly, Sam withdrew his fingers and drew Dean back against him, his arms circling around to rest against Dean’s chest and stomach. Dean turned slightly, opening his mouth to protest. Sam immediately covered it with his own, his tongue seeking out Dean’s with a hungry, feral intensity that left Dean breathless. Dean’s head was spinning when Sam finally let his mouth go and slipped soap-slicked hands down to run lightly over Dean’s engorged balls and dick. “God, you’re so beautiful,” Sam moaned over Dean’s shoulder, watching his hands play over Dean’s body.

The soap stung against Dean’s abused skin. He hissed out a vehement, “Fuck,” unable to stop himself, but he couldn’t help pushing into Sam’s hands anyway, wanting more. Sam slid his hands up, away, and a sob tore itself from Dean’s throat. Sam had ripped him open, left his very essence exposed, and every nerve in his body was flayed open and bleeding. He couldn’t take this anymore, he needed…

“Shhh,” Sam whispered against his ear, just loud enough to be heard over the spray, “I’ve got you, Dean. You’re okay.” Sam rinsed the soap away before turning off the spray, running a towel gently over his skin and leading him out to the bed.

Grabbing a couple of pillows and throwing them in the middle of the bed, Sam pushed Dean face down over them, aiming his shove so that Dean landed propped up a little, his dick hanging free. Sam crawled up behind him and tongued down Dean’s back, stopping every so often to lap up the little cooling pools of water that still dotted his skin. Tongue tracing a lazy path down, Sam didn’t stop even when he reached Dean’s ass, leaving wet, sloppy lines of bliss smoldering over his skin.

Pulling Dean’s cheeks apart, Sam’s tongue slipped between to circle gently around his hole. Dean jerked up against Sam’s face and Sam’s name ripped from his throat in a needy whine. Dean expected Sam to stop then, expected his tongue to be replaced with his fingers or dick, but Sam just pushed in farther. Sam buried his face in Dean’s ass and his tongue fluttered over the ridged skin of his hole, stuttering on the uneven skin. Dean yelled his frustration and need into the bed, his frantic breaths coming so tight and close that it felt like he wasn’t getting any air at all.

Pushing passed the ring of muscle, Sam licked around his inner walls, and Dean writhed and bucked against Sam’s grasp, frantic to pull away, frantic for more, for Sam to go deeper. He was hovering tantalizingly close to the edge, but was still not able to go over, still not able to let go. “Sammy…” he gasped out, unable to say more, desperately hoping Sam would understand.

Before Dean could react, Sam pulled back just enough to sink his teeth into the inner curve of Dean’s ass. Dean hissed against the sudden pain, his hips pushing up involuntarily. Sam took advantage of the sudden access, reached between Dean’s legs and painfully grabbed his raw dick, sending waves of fire arcing across Dean’s groin.

It was, finally, enough.

Dean’s control broke in an overwhelming wave of pleasure and pain that slammed through his body in wave after wave so intense Dean thought he would drown in it. The entire world swept apart; each pulse rushed through him to carry a little more of his corruption away. He felt the end nearing, and he cried out with loss. The feverish need crested through him in one final, intense burst, flowing out and leaving him a boneless, brainless puddle on the bed.

Dean realized dimly that his face was wet, but before he could think too deeply about that, Sam collapsed on top of him, smearing sticky wetness between them. Dean realized that Sam must’ve come at the same time he did. For some stupid reason that forced another tear to skate down his nose. Sam moved off of him and tried to pull him into an embrace, but Dean pulled back, unable to let himself give in to the offered comfort. Sam was relentless though, and after a few moments, Dean gave in, his face pressed tightly against Sam’s chest.

“Tell me, Dean,” Sam ordered, cold steel in his tone even as his hand moved reassuringly across Dean’s back. “Tell me why you need it to hurt.”

Dean froze, panic clenching through every muscle in his body. He wasn’t sure what to say. He couldn’t tell Sam about the thirty years, not the truth of it, the truth that felt like such a betrayal now.

Sam just waited, his hand never faltering in its comforting path.

Silence built between them, demanded that he speak, pushing until the first thing that came to Dean’s head spilled out between them, “It was me, Sam.”

Sam’s hand stopped its journey, moved up to cup the back of Dean’s head and held it firmly still. “What was?” Sam rumbled.

“I broke the first seal. It was my fault we almost started the apocalypse.” Overwhelming horror, putrid and soul-crushing, washed over him as strong as it had when Alistair had first spoken the words. He desperately tried to stuff the feelings back down, to keep them buried where they belonged.

Sam tightened his grip on Dean, holding him even closer. “Hey,” Sam whispered, “you don’t have to be strong, not here, not with me… not anymore.” Sam moved down the bed a little, just enough to bring their faces even, and pressed a kiss against Dean’s lips.

Dean opened obediently to the silent demand, his tongue searching greedily for the comforting taste of Sam’s mouth. When Sam pressed in with a needy moan, Dean’s dick pulsed painfully with renewed interest. Sam smiled playfully against his mouth and pulled back just enough to whisper teasingly, “Slut,” before claiming his mouth once more. The kiss lingered, slow and languorous, before Sam licked up the side of Dean’s face and pressed a final kiss against Dean’s forehead.

“I don’t understand why you think you broke the first seal, Dean,” Sam muttered into his hair, the lighthearted mood slipping away almost as fast as it had come. “You couldn’t have.”

Dean felt the tension flood back, had to struggle with himself to stay where he was and not flee the bed, flee the hotel room. He wanted to run away from this whole fucked-up unholy mess he’d started. But, it wouldn’t help, and he knew it, so he somehow managed to stay put. Dean pressed his face against Sam’s chest so he wouldn’t have to see the pity and revulsion. “I broke in hell, Sammy. That was the first seal,” Dean gritted out, each word stabbing brutally like a dagger through his heart.

“What?” Sam sounded confused. “Lots of people break in hell, Dean. That’s why we have demons.”

Alistair’s words had been branded on his soul, and he whispered them out shamefully against Sam’s chest, “And it is written… that the first seal shall be broken… when a righteous man sheds blood in hell. As he breaks, so shall it break…” Dean’s voice cracked at the end, and the rest of his words came out splintered and harsh. “I did it. I started everything.”

Sam’s grip on his neck got painfully tight as Dean spoke, but Sam shook his head in denial. There was a long pause, leaving Dean time to wonder if Sam was going to push him away in disgust, before Sam spit out angrily, “Who the hell told you that? Castiel?”

Dean pushed the single word past his lips, “Alistair.”

Sam’s response was almost automatic, “Demons lie.”

“Not this time,” Dean replied, absolutely certain. “And anyway, Castiel confirmed it.”

“Well, you didn’t know. You can’t blame yourself,” Sam said, matching his tone to Dean’s.

“The hell I can’t,” Dean snapped back, and then managed to choke out, “Dad didn’t... He was there for a hundred years, and he didn’t.”

Sam tightened his arms around Dean and growled out fiercely, “You’re a hundred times stronger than Dad, Dean. I don’t believe that for…”

“You saw Dad when he got out,” Dean yelled over Sam to make his point. Falling back on the determined aggression that had nearly always seen him through, he pulled back so he could see Sam’s face. “He didn’t break, and based on how long I was there…”

“But that’s the thing, Dean,” Sam said, cutting him off. “You’re assuming there’s some easy rule for how time moves in hell and how it moves here. It didn’t have to be the same time for dad at all. There’s no rule that says time in hell has to be consistent. For all we know, he was only there for a couple of months.”

“Alistair said…”

“Of course he did, Dean, but just because you think he told you the truth about the prophecy doesn’t mean he told you the truth about everything.” Dean flushed, feeling a little thick, but Sam went on without pausing, “Besides, do you really think you were the first righteous man to go to hell, to sacrifice themselves for someone else? What about Evan Hudson? Did he deserve to go to hell for wanting to save his wife’s life? Do you really think he didn’t break?” Sam sat up and left the bed to lean against the dresser, gaze catching on his own reflection in the mirror.

Dean slowly sat up, meaning to follow him, but every muscle in his body screamed in protest.

Sam started talking again before Dean had even made it to the edge of the bed, his voice filled with grim conviction. “Dad broke, Dad didn’t break; there was something else that they did to make what happened to you be the thing that broke the first seal, some other part of the prophesy that Alistair didn’t tell you about… They only went after you because of me. Because… because they knew you wouldn’t stop me.” The passion slowly died from Sam’s voice, leaving him sounding tired and defeated. “Dad wouldn’t have tried to reason with me; he would have just taken me out. I’m the fuck up here, not you.”

Dean eased himself off the bed and moved close to Sam. “Hey, I’m not saying I think what you did with Ruby was right, but you didn’t know, Sam. Who would’ve thought that killing Lilith was a bad idea? And besides, in the end, you stopped it.”

Sam met Dean’s gaze tentatively. A smile ghosted across his lips at Dean’s words but quickly disappeared again. “The angels and demons played us both, Dean,” Sam said, anger lacing his tone, “We can’t trust anyone else. We’re all we’ve got.”

An uneasy feeling stirred in the pit of Dean’s stomach at Sam’s words, but he pushed it away, snapping back with a forced, “And don’t you forget it.”

Sam smiled possessively, his gaze roving slowly over Dean’s body, “I think we need to shower again.”

Intensely grateful for the distraction, Dean called out, “Dibbs!” immediately, and shuffled stiffly toward the door, half waiting for Sam to follow him in.

Sam didn’t say anything in response, and Dean had to stifle his disappointment. The door was almost shut before Sam finally called out, “Dean?” in a low voice.

“What?” Dean asked pulling the door open again.

“I know there’s something else,” Sam said, with just the barest hint of a threat. Dean felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. “You don’t have to say anything today, but you won’t be allowed to keep it from me forever.”

Dean stared at Sam for a moment, but he couldn’t think of anything to say, so he simply shut the door, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief when Sam let him.

  
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[Part Four](http://varkelton.livejournal.com/18198.html)   
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	4. An Offering For Sin - Part Four

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**An Offering For Sin - Part Four**   
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Bobby’s car was missing when Dean pulled up in front of the house; he was probably out on a hunt somewhere. Dean turned the engine off and thought vaguely about dragging his lazy ass out of the car while he watched Sam get out, grab both their bags and open up the house. He wasn’t sure where the hell Sam was getting his energy; they’d been fucking like rabbits ever since Texas.

Sam poked his head in the window, concern decorating his features. “You okay, Dean?”

Dean nodded, and Sam opened the door. When Sam held out a hand to help Dean up, he slapped it away irritably. “I’m fine,” he groused and got out quickly. He’d be damned if he’d let Sam know the pace was getting to him. He might do something stupid like ease up. Sam smirked at him before going into the house, not bothering to wait. Dean pulled himself out of the car and dragged himself up the front steps.

Sam had draped himself languorously over the couch in the front room, his legs spread wide, waiting for Dean.

Dean stopped abruptly at the front door, unable to make himself go inside. His dick already strained against his pants, and if he went inside… there was no way he would be able to say no to the picture of sin that was Sam at this moment. God, even one of the old cars in the front yard would be better than surrounded by faded wallpaper and dusty books. “Dude, what… we should… I don’t know, get a motel or something.”

“Why?” Sam asked, his tone slightly dangerous.

“Why? Hello… _Bobby’s_ ,” Dean drawled. Sam was… Sam couldn’t possibly be thinking that they could go at it here…

Sam was up and in Dean’s space faster than he could process, dragging Dean in and shoving him against the wall next to the front door, hands tight in his jacket. Sam leaned in, hovering his mouth over Dean’s, “What, are you scared?”

“What?” Dean asked, a little baffled at having to explain the obvious. “Dude, we don’t even know when he’s coming home. You really want to do… _that_ , here?”

Sam laughed mockingly. “If you can’t even say it, maybe you shouldn’t be doing it, Dean.”

“Fuck you,” Dean replied, irrationally defensive. Sam needed to let him get some goddamn sleep was what needed to happen. His dick was ready to play again, but his brain was heavy with fatigue. He tried to push Sam off and slide out the front door, but Sam spun him around to slam face first against the wall with his hands locked behind him in a solid pin.

Biting out, “Don’t move,” Sam eased a hand up to pull Dean’s head over to the side, exposing his neck, and dipped down to tease at the stitches. Sam tongued at them, and Dean felt a brief tearing pain that ripped a sharp hiss from his mouth before blood tickled down the side of his neck. Arching into Sam’s mouth and shifting against the wall, he wantonly sought contact, forgetting for the moment exactly where he was.

“My God…” The soft, shocked drawl froze them both in place. Dean couldn’t place the voice, but he knew it from somewhere. “I hadn’t really believed it, but…”

Dean felt Sam push him down a fraction of a second before a gun fired. Thrown to the floor next to Dean, Sam grunted in pain, his face running with blood. Dean threw himself over Sam’s body before angling to face their assailant. He desperately needed to check his brother over, but Rufus stood in the kitchen doorway with a gun in his hand pointed directly at them.

“Rufus?” Dean yelled incredulously. “What the hell are you doing?”

His voice pitying, Rufus declared, “That’s not your brother anymore, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t help glancing down. His heart skipped a beat; he couldn’t see how bad it was, but a fucking boat-load of blood covered the wall and soaked Sam’s clothes. It was still Sam though. “What the hell are you talking about? Of course, it’s Sam! Just… put the goddamn gun down. Put the goddamn gun down or I will put you down myself,” Dean snapped.

Rufus looked at him pityingly and shook his head. Dean figured Rufus was just far enough away to get the shot off before Dean could make it across the floor. His words were just posturing right now and Rufus knew it. Sam coughed and shifted under him; Dean felt his heart back away from his throat. Dangerously distracted by the need to turn back and run hands and eyes over Sam, Dean grabbed onto his anger to keep himself focused.

“Look, son, I know you think you can save him, but…”

“There’s nothing to save. That’s Sam. My _brother_.”

Rufus arched an eyebrow, “That sure wasn’t a real brotherly scene I walked in on.”

Dean reached a hand up to rub along his bleeding neck and flushed with embarrassment. “We… I don’t have to explain myself to you.”

“That’s alright,” Rufus replied, calmly shaking his head. “You don’t need to. That creature you’re calling your brother is being slowly taken over by Lucifer… Sam’s death is the only way to close the seal.”

Dean’s hand clenched in Sam’s jacket; there was no way… “You’re insane,” he managed to bite out against a rising tide of nameless fear. Sam shifted under him, trying to move, but Dean pushed him back, “Stay down, Sam.”

“Fuck,” Rufus cursed, “I thought I had him. We don’t take him out now, we get stuck with the bloody apocalypse. Get off of him now, Dean, or so help me God, I will shoot through you, boy.”

“News flash, idiot. Sam stopped Lucifer from rising. He ended it,” Dean replied angrily. “I’m not sure who gave you that crazy assed theory, but they were wrong.”

“The angels, boy, the angels came to me and told me everything.” Rufus’ tone softened, “Turns out we aren’t all alone out here after all.”

Dean had a moment to wonder if Rufus would kneel down and go all Holy Roller before Rufus abruptly came back to himself, continuing forcefully, “Sam’s Lucifer’s vessel and he’s being slowly corrupted.” Compassion filled his expression, “We have a limited-time window to close the seal. You really don’t see it? You mean to tell me nothing’s changed about him lately?”

The words flew at Dean, an insidious accusation that crept inside to sit low in his belly. His uptight, emo, let’s talk everything through first brother had turned into… but there were reasons. This was more than just the last few days. That transformation had been going on since he’d sold his soul and had been stupid enough to admit it. It wasn’t… wasn’t what Rufus was implying. And yet… His foundation was crumbling out from under him, the fear tearing him apart from the inside.

Something crashed outside, and Rufus looked up, startled.

Dean leapt forward, knocking the gun out of Rufus' hand and tackling him to the ground. Dean landed a second hit after the first blow that Rufus shrugged off. Throwing Dean aside, Rufus dove for the gun that had skittered across the floor to the left.

Just as Rufus’ fingers closed around the firearm, Dean grabbed his hand and slammed it against the floor. The gun sprang from Rufus’ grasp; he flipped over just as Dean sprang forward to straddle him. Glaring up from the floor, Rufus brought his other hand around to slam into Dean’s face.

Fireworks of pain lanced through his jaw and a second hit sent Dean flying over to the side. Rufus once more made it to the gun, but Dean took advantage of the distraction and pulled his own weapon, pressing it tightly against the back of Rufus’ neck.

“Drop it,” Dean ordered coldly.

“Dean,” Rufus panted out, “You don’t know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah, I really kind of think I do.”

“Dean, get out of the way,” Sam said shakily behind him.

 _Sam was talking_. He was all right. Dean had to fight not to close his eyes or drop his guard as relief coursed through him. Rufus’ gaze turned raw with fear, making Dean feel uneasy in his skin and turning his insides molten. It wasn’t true. It couldn’t be. Dean’s hands began to shake, causing the gun to tremble against Rufus’ neck.

“Dean,” Sam said warningly, his voice growing stronger. “Get off of him.”

“No,” Dean replied, swallowing against the revulsion that threatened to overwhelm him. “No. No, I wanna hear what he has to say for himself,” he rasped out. “Which angel sent you, and what exactly did he say?” He prodded the back of Rufus’s neck angrily with the gun. Zachariah had to be behind this somehow.

Sam put his hand on Dean’s shoulder, but Dean jerked away from the contact. He couldn’t… He couldn’t afford that kind of distraction right now. Rufus immediately flipped over to bring the gun around, but Sam calmly stepped forward to put his foot on Rufus’ neck.

He pressed down until a crack sounded out and Rufus’s eyes went dark.

Every muscle in Dean’s body froze, locking him in place as he desperately tried to make sense out of what had just happened. “Sam?” he whispered. His brother’s name came out sounding forlorn and lost, and Dean shuddered when he realized he didn’t expect an answer. He hadn’t felt this alone since…

Flung suddenly backwards against the wall, the impact drove all the air out of Dean’s lungs in a painful whoosh. Damn, that was fucking familiar. He tried to pull himself away from the wall, but his body was locked in place by invisible hands, and he thumped his head back in frustration. Sam approached him slowly, and Dean kept his eyes fixed on the floor, refusing to look up. Sam… no, _Lucifer_ … or maybe… please, God, just some minor demon, easily exorcized…. stopped in front of him, calmly waiting.

Dean didn’t know what Sam wanted, didn’t know what Sam wanted him to do, but he thought that if he had to look into that face, Sam’s face, and see something… other… that he would shatter, and they’d never find the pieces. He kept his gaze down.

“Look at me, Dean,” Sam ordered. The voice was familiar, but disturbingly lacking its usual inflections.

Pulling defiance from reserves he didn’t know he had, Dean bit out, “No.”

Sam brought his hands up and rested them on either side of Dean’s face, caressing over cheeks and eyes and lips, until Dean moaned out a simple, “Stop.” Sam paused and then slipped two fingers under Dean’s chin, forcing his head up. Abruptly, Dean couldn’t not know anymore, and his eyes locked on his brother’s, searching frantically for some sign that this was all a lie… but… Sam never looked that composed, that accepting, that… at peace.

This wasn’t his brother.

“No,” Dean whispered, denial acrid on his tongue.

He’d failed after all. Nothing had been stopped. The apocalypse was here, and he’d not only failed to stop it, he’d welcomed it in with open arms. His head throbbed and threatened to split, the enormity of what he and Sam had done too much to contain. Cas should have just left him in hell. The world would have been so much better off.

Sam… _not Sam… not his brother…_ smiled sadly at him then pressed his lips against Dean’s, gently at first and then harder until finally the kiss bruised and bit. Dean tried to turn his face away but failed; Sam’s grip was like iron. Lucifer licked possessively over Dean’s tightly closed lips before pulling back to stare into Dean’s eyes. “I’m here, Dean, inside of Sam, but I think you figured that out already.”

Rage filled him so much he couldn’t contain it, and he growled out bitterly, “Get the hell out of my brother, you spineless parasite, or I will find a way to exorcize your ass.”

The corners of Sam’s mouth turned up in a mockery of a smile, the condescension dripping off of him. “I’m not possessing him, Dean - not like you’re used to thinking of anyway.”

“You’re lying.” Tears blurred his vision, threatening to fall. Dean fought to find some hope he could cling to. Demons he could handle, but when they wore the face of family… and, God, this was so much worse than Meg. He didn’t know how to fight this one. His stomach twisted. “This whole time… you’ve just been playing me. It was never really Sam.”

Lucifer ran his hand gently through Dean’s hair. Curling his hand around and griping tightly, he forced Dean to lean back and look up at the monster masquerading as his brother. “Whatever else I may do, I never lie. I’m just… borrowing him right now. I needed a mouthpiece… so I could talk to you.”

“Good to know. Say what you gotta say, and get the hell out,” Dean snapped angrily.

Lucifer’s mouth twitched slightly. “That’s not how it works. I don’t possess, Dean. I’m too vast to be so easily contained… I just… influence,” he offered mildly. “I help people see what they really want.”

Eyes turning dark with arousal, Lucifer ran a hand suggestively down Dean’s chest, dipped his face in low and close. “I don’t need a body to do that.” Dean felt bile coat the insides of his stomach and he strained futilely against the invisible hold until his muscles gave out and he was left panting against the wall. Lucifer watched him with calm disinterest, as if Dean was only a mild curiosity. There was a long pause before Lucifer spoke again, his voice thoughtful, “It really doesn’t take much with humans. You’re all so… susceptible.”

Dean stared impotently past the face hovering so close to his own and listened with mounting despair as that voice whispered of his sins, “You know, I watched you in hell; you intrigued me even then. I was really quite impressed. You lasted so much longer than I expected.” He placed a hand comfortingly against Dean’s face, his fingers brushed lightly over Dean’s cheek, and his gaze turned pitying. “Your breaking was just… inevitable.” His gaze caught on Dean’s lips and he hesitated slightly in fascination before dipping down to lightly press against them with his own.

“Leave us alone,” Dean begged hoarsely. He lost the battle against despair, and his tears crested over.

Sam’s tongue licked the wet trail up Dean’s face, slow and intimate and wrong. Dean flinched back, closing his eyes, but Sam’s hands still held his face tightly, and he couldn’t get away. The tender kisses pressed against Dean’s eyelids made his stomach clench dangerously, and he bit his tongue to keep himself from spewing his thoughts. Talking, acknowledging this, would only make everything that much more real.

“You need to understand, Sam will be mine as, by extension, will you.”

Dean mouthed the word, _No_ , against the flash of terror the matter-of-fact statement evoked. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been clinging to the idea that the possession, at least, was temporary, even if the implications of Lucifer’s presence weren’t. He wanted to scream, but he somehow kept it shoved inside.

As if unaware he’d shaken Dean to his core, Lucifer continued on in his seductive musings, “He’s so deliciously close to falling, to letting me all the way in. My perfect vessel. He doesn’t know, of course. Doesn’t _want_ to know I’m here, whispering pretty things inside his head.”

Dean opened his mouth to say... something - he wasn't sure what. Lucifer pressed in, claiming his mouth with a dirty, sloppy kiss before pulling back with a calculating smile. “I wouldn’t tell him though, if I were you.” Dean started to turn his face away, unwilling to listen anymore, but Lucifer forced it back. “After all the people for whose deaths he’s responsible, after you went to hell for him…” He leaned in, letting his warm breath feather across Dean’s mouth, hot and close, “After all the filthy, shameful things he did with Ruby…”

He pulled back just enough to look Dean in the eyes, his expression vaguely menacing, “After letting me free? After everything he’s taken from you the last few days…” His expression cleared, and he shook his head sadly before continuing. “He’s not as strong as he looks. Telling him about me might just be the thing that pushes him over the edge, that makes him give up and let me in. Permanently.”

Dean flinched back like he’d been hit, even as helpless anger flared through him at Lucifer’s words. Most of the things he’d mentioned weren’t even Sam’s fault, and he wanted to hurl the words back in Sam’s face, except, he didn’t think that Sam was really here right now, and he didn’t want to give Lucifer the satisfaction.

He could feel the tears still falling slowly down his face; he wanted to stop fighting, to embrace the destructive self-hatred that circled his guts, that filled him with despair and fatigue and left him feeling sick and shaky… he’d opened this door when he’d sold his soul for Sam, but nothing had really changed; the thought of losing Sam forever still filled him with stark terror.

He couldn’t face that, would never be able to face that. He had to keep trying. For Sam. “Why are you telling me this?” he finally whispered.

Lucifer curled himself around Dean, dropping a hand to linger over Dean’s chest before slowly running it down until his hand hit the top of Dean’s pants. His hand pressed in and continued the descent, circling Dean’s dick through the heavy denim hard enough to drive Dean to arch helplessly into the touch, to tear a moaning sob from Dean’s mouth. He smiled lazily, “Because I’m enjoying the game. Because I already know I’ll win, and I’m not quite ready for this part to be over.”

Lucifer smirked, his serene and self-righteous arrogance shining in Sam’s features, evident in the very lines of Sam’s body. “I’ll win because I always win, but I’ll enjoy watching you flail against the inevitable.” He paused, adding almost as an afterthought, “Oh, and you better keep your brother safe. The angels are likely to send more than one, and you’re pretty obvious here. Goodbye, Dean,” Lucifer said gently. “I’ll see you soon.”

He pressed a final parting kiss tenderly against Dean’s lips before Dean’s body jerked free of the invisible restraints, and Sam suddenly became Sam again. “Dean?” Sam asked, confusion filling his voice. He pressed a hand against his still bleeding head. “I think I was shot.” Sam staggered backwards and sat heavily on the couch, a startled gasp escaping from his lips when he caught sight of Rufus lying dead on the floor.

At that moment, Dean knew with startling clarity that he couldn’t risk telling Sam. He couldn’t risk losing him again, not for anything. He’d find another way to make this right. Resisting the urge to throw his arms around Sam and never let go, he grabbed Bobby’s medical kit and sat down on the couch next to his brother. “It’s alright, Sammy,” he gruffed out. “I think Rufus went nuts. It’s just a graze though. You were kind of out of it. Let me take care of it…”

~o0O0o~

He woke up with a groan to the incongruous sound of birdsong outside the window. This wasn’t a Snow White kind of morning. Sam had glommed onto him like a clingy, sweaty, oversized teddy bear. Of course, he wasn’t really sure how much of that was actually Sam, and he suddenly needed to be out of the goddamn bed. He struggled frantically, throwing off Sam’s heavy limbs and rolling off the bed to pant against the puce carpet.

“Dean?” Sam crouched behind him and rested a heavy hand on his shoulder. Dean flinched back. He’d thought he was okay last night, but in the harsh light of morning… Sam grabbed his shoulders harshly and forced Dean to look at him, “Dean, what the hell is wrong?”

Dean searched Sam’s face, looking for any hint of the arrogance and condescension that had been present yesterday, but saw only confusion and slight, half-groggy concern on the bandage-taped face before him. The damned gun shot had bled a lot, even for a head wound. Dean reached up to brush a hand against it, and Sam jerked back. “You remember anything this morning?” Dean asked nervously.

Sam looked pained for a moment before shaking his head negatively. “We were standing next to the door, and then you were pulling me onto the couch. Are you sure Rufus didn’t say anything about why he attacked us like that?”

“No,” Dean rasped out. “No, he didn’t.”

“Hey, you can’t beat yourself up over it. He started the fight and his neck snapped when he fell. It wasn’t your fault. Although,” Sam paused, looking puzzled, “I still think we should have waited for Bobby to get back.”

Dean pulled himself from Sam’s grasp and stood up to move into the bathroom. Everything had been so much simpler yesterday morning. Sam followed, crowding him against the sink and rubbing up against Dean’s ass. Morning wood. “Hey, don’t walk away from me like that,” Sam growled possessively against his neck. “I think we have some unfinished business from yesterday. I don’t like being interrupted.”

Sam’s hands pressed against Dean’s arms tightly, running up and down tense muscles. Feeling sick, Dean dug his fingers against the counter until they shook. He wanted this, God help him, but he really wasn’t sure Sam did anymore. He wished he could allow himself to just go insane; sitting in a little white room eating bugs would be so much easier than this.

“Hey. Relax,” Sam ordered, words muffled against Dean’s neck, and then bit down against the bandage covering his stitches. Pain flared and slipped down his chest, straight to his dick. Dean felt himself getting hard in spite of himself. He planted an elbow in Sam’s sternum and muttered, “Get the fuck off me, Sam.” His brother doubled over and Dean dodged into the room, grabbing a pair of jeans to pull on over his boxers.

Grabbed harshly and thrown against the door, the side of Dean’s ass caught on the knob hard enough to make him gasp. Sam’s hand wrapped around his neck, clamping down and lifting, forcing Dean up to his toes and leaving him struggling for air. Fury and terror colored his brother’s features, twisting Sam into a caricature of the brother Dean knew.

Sam leaned in close, “You don’t get to leave me. Not again.” Dean’s airway was almost completely blocked, forcing his breaths to come out in tight, rapid pants. He scrambled against Sam’s grip, desperation and panic overwhelming thought.

Sam’s fist collided against Dean’s chin, slamming into the bruises left by Rufus, and everything blurred out.

He coughed painfully against the bedspread when he came dazedly back to himself, his boxers gone and his dick painfully hard against his stomach. Sam’s hand was tight against the back of his neck, holding him down, and his ass was on fire, the why of which becoming clear when Sam’s other hand cracked loudly against his skin.

His hips tilted up, seeking more, even as he whispered harshly, “Sammy, stop.” The cold bite of sharp steel against his skin made his breath catch in his throat and left a short line of burning pain between his shoulder blades. Sam replaced the knife with his tongue, the wet, warm touch soothing against his flaming skin.

Sam ran his hand up Dean’s back, pressing into the tight muscle, and Dean felt Sam’s body glide against him, settle over him and pin him to the bed in a solid line. “Why are you fighting me, Dean?” Sam breathed quietly against his ear. “I thought we were past this?” Dean didn’t know what to say, his head shaking slightly in silent denial. “Don’t… do you not want this?”

Dean could hear horror and revulsion mixed into Sam’s lust-blown voice as his brother started to pull back, and fear stabbed sharply through his heart.

He knew, suddenly and unequivocally, that pushing Sam away right now would destroy his brother, and he wanted this, wanted this thing between them almost more than anything he’d ever wanted in his entire life. He’d do anything, trade back his soul, willingly go straight back to hell, if it meant they could still have this, if he could still have Sam.

Sam’s hold on him had loosened, and Dean turned over so he could see Sam’s face. The scrape of cloth against his enflamed skin sent sparks of pleasure-pain shooting through him, and his dick throbbed in response. “Don’t go, Sammy. I need you,” he rasped out.

Pain lanced across Sam’s face, an internal battle playing out across his features, and Dean wondered how he possibly could have missed the signs before. Dean reached up and ran his fingers through Sam’s hair, fisting it tightly before pulling him down to press their lips together.

Sam was slightly hesitant at first, but rapidly grew more demanding, scraping his teeth against Dean’s mouth until Dean opened to him and allowed him inside to devour Dean’s mouth. Sam reached down and grabbed Dean’s balls in a tight grip, sending out fireworks of pain that made him writhe up into the touch.

Dean turned his head to the side to escape the onslaught, gasping out, “Please, need you now,” as he wrapped his legs around Sam’s torso to pull their bodies tightly together. Sam pulled back, his eyes narrowing, and considered. Dean held his breath, nervously anticipating what Sam was going to do.

“Turn over,” Sam ordered and swung himself off the bed.

Dean felt the separation like a physical blow. “Sam?” he whispered, suddenly unsure.

“I said, ‘turn over,” Sam responded angrily. “Turn over and grab the headboard.”

Dean watched Sam’s steely face for a heart-stopping moment before slowly turning over to comply, his heart thudding against the walls of his chest. Sam moved in close, leaning down to grab Dean’s head and force his face directly down into the pillows. “Don’t look up; don’t move,” Sam commanded, threat a clear undercurrent in his voice. “If you move, I’ll tie you down and leave you here, hard and wanting. Do you understand?”

Dean didn’t trust his voice so he nodded his assent against the pillows. Sam moved away, and Dean couldn’t hear his brother anymore.

The minutes ticked by. Dean’s dick throbbed fiercely, and his body trembled with the effort it took not to press his hips into the bed in search of friction. He had to bite the inside of his mouth to keep his pleas for release inside.

Drops of sweat slid down his temples and his breath panted out painfully when he finally felt Sam move onto the bed to straddle his legs. Dean’s hands were white and trembling with strain from gripping the headboard slats so hard, so he was more than a little relieved that Sam had taken away the option to move his legs. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could hold out.

He heard Sam’s hands rubbing together behind him, and then Sam placed them, warm and firm and slick, against his back, pressing into his muscles with a delicious slide of skin against skin. Sam’s dick pressed against his legs and the bottom part of his ass, Sam’s weight heavy and restraining above him, and it was everything that he wanted. He melted under Sam’s hands, lost in a quiet headspace blissfully free of thoughts as Sam moved over him. He almost forgot himself, almost cried out with loss, when Sam abruptly pulled his hands away.

Fire flared in the wake of the knife that Sam pressed into his skin; whatever oil he’d been using, it was not meant to be used on open wounds. A muffled cry forced its way past Dean’s lips and he locked his hips down hard against the mattress in an effort not to thrust under Sam.

The knife stopped in its path, and Sam leaned in tight and close, whispering, “Shhh.” Dean nodded against the pillows, sucking his cries inside, and Sam shifted back, the knife settling dangerously against his skin, directly over his right hip, right at the top of his ass. Sam cut deeply into his skin, traced slowly to the left and then down before bringing it back to the right with steady pressure.

Dean’s dick throbbed hotly, leaking into the sheets below him, the wetness there turning cold as he struggled not to move. He was so close that the effort not to thrust was shattering him into a million pieces. He bit his lip so hard he could taste blood, but sounds still leaked out with his harsh pants, short little gasps of need and desire.

Sam switched up the path once more, drawing the knife down and then back to the left. An S. He was cutting a fucking S into Dean’s skin. His hips convulsed down, his control slipping away, but Sam pressed down on his hip with a knee, forcing him still. “Just a little more, Dean,” Sam hissed.

“Please,” Dean moaned, the knife’s path a trail of fire against his skin. So close, so close…

The knife pulled away, and Sam leaned forward once more. “Mine,” he whispered, his voice needy and lust-blown and fierce. Dean’s hands convulsed on the headboard, a direct response to Sam’s claiming, and a long yell ripped from his throat as his orgasm roared out of him, long pulses ripping through his body, riding him hard, until he was left wrung out and spent, coming so hard the room actually grayed out around him…

“Castiel,” Dean heard Sam say, and he fuzzily realized that Sam no longer straddled him. “I didn’t expect to see you again.” Sam sounded… _wrong_. Dean’s heart leapt with fear, and he rolled over quickly, gasping at the pain that surged through his bloodied hip.

Sam stood at the door, which was open only about a foot, and Dean heard Cas’ hand slam against it. The familiar explosion of electrical discharge and light filled the room, and Sam immediately cried out and stumbled back, clutching his head in pain. Cas opened the door wide, his hand red with blood, to reveal a freshly drawn sigil still dripping bloodily down the door.

Cas stepped into the room and pierced Dean with his gaze. “Dean Winchester, no matter what happens, you need to let this play out. You can not interfere.” Cas was his usual cryptic, imperious self, but Dean was too distracted by his brother writhing on the floor to come up with a suitably sarcastic remark. “Your brother’s life, the fate of the world, depends on this.” Dean shot Cas an incredulous look, and then shifted his gaze to Sam who was still gasping for breath but was clearly fighting off whatever Cas had done.

“Dean!” Cas glared at Dean, his voice harsh. “Do you understand? Anything you do will only make it worse.”

Dean couldn’t take his eyes off his brother and made an instinctive move toward him. Cas raised a hand, making a pushing motion that sent Dean flying across the room to land in a heap in the far corner.

Sam’s head finally came up - wearing Lucifer’s expression. Dean wanted to weep, wanted to charge across the room and wipe the damnable look off his brother’s face. He did neither, held in place by a strong sense of self-preservation and the crippling knowledge that there really wasn’t much he _could_ do.

“Get the hell out of my brother!” he yelled, not sure what he was trying to accomplish, but needing to do _something_. He waited for some kind of acknowledgement, but Sam… Lucifer didn’t even turn, his focus solely on the angel.

Lucifer flicked a finger at Cas and sent him hurtling across the room to slam into the other side. The wall cracked and buckled, Cas almost plunging through it and out into the hall. Cas struggled to rise.

Lucifer only watched with a puzzled expression on his face, shaking his head a little. “Castiel, did you really expect your small abilities to have a significant effect on me?” Cas struggled up to standing, but Lucifer calmly slammed him back down with another slight movement of his finger.

“You were always one of my favorites,” Lucifer stated fondly, grabbing a handful of Cas’s trench coat to haul the angel back up. Castiel peered at him with a dazed expression. “I never understood why you turned me down when I asked you to join me.” Lucifer pushed Cas into the room and Cas stumbled back, landing in a graceless heap next to the bed.

Cas raised a trench coat covered hand and spoke to it, “Benedictio Dei omnipotentis.” He stood, raised his hand, and revealed a block covered in sigils which he slammed against Sam’s face. Sam staggered to the side, his face bloodied. He brought a hand up to touch it wonderingly. His fingers played over the wound for a moment before he pulled his hand down to looked at it, apparently fascinated by the splash of crimson that covered it.

“Nice trick, Castiel,” he mused as he stared at his fingers. “You’ve certainly been learning. But just like always, not enough.” Lucifer looked up from his hand, his lips twitching slightly in a condescending smirk, “Not anywhere _near_ enough.” He raised his hand and made a fist, twisting it with a self-satisfied expression. The reddish block exploded into dust.

Cas pulled back to swing at Lucifer, but Lucifer calmly caught Cas’ fist, twisting it until a loud crack sounded. He cried out as Lucifer pressed down on it, forcing him down to his knees. “Now… _Cas_ ,” Lucifer lingered over the nickname and flicked an amused glace at Dean. Turning back to Castiel, Lucifer reminded him gently, “I told you at the church what would happen if I saw you again.”

Fiercely defiant as he gazed up at Lucifer, Cas didn’t even flinch when Lucifer released his hand, grabbed his shoulders and lifted him from the floor to slam him face-down onto the edge of the bed. Lucifer kneeled down behind him, a hand resting casually on his neck, and whispered harshly, “It’s almost like you _want_ to Fall for me.”

“No,” Cas gasped out in sudden horror, jerking in Lucifer’s grasp. Lucifer pressed down, pinning Cas’ head to the bed like a bug in a collection. Cas tried to get his feet under him, but they simply slipped backward. He tried to shove against the bed with his hands, but Lucifer held him there without even straining, head cocked to the side, watching as if Cas was a curious kind of show. After a minute, Cas gave up, slumping against the bed. “Please, Lucifer,” Cas breathed out, “please, just let me go. You cannot truly mean to go through with your threat.”

“There’s so much I could teach you, Castiel, so much of this world that you’ve never experienced.” Lucifer adjusted his grip to the side and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of Cas’s neck.

“Oh, hell no,” Dean snarled as he stood up on shaky legs. “You sick son of a bitch, leave them the hell alone!” Moving across the room, Dean had almost reached Sam when Lucifer finally looked at him, finally bothered to acknowledge Dean at all. Castiel looked at him too, fear and pleading spread across his features. Dean didn’t know whether Cas wanted his help or wanted him to back down, but it didn’t really matter; he didn’t have time to do anything else before Lucifer sent him flying back across the room with barely a twitch.

Dean landed with a crash; pain exploded through every part of his body and left him gasping for breath, the world slowly spinning around him. Only vaguely aware of Lucifer walking over to stand above him, Dean froze, feeling like a mouse under a cat’s scrutiny.

“Lucifer,” Castiel called quietly. Dean looked up, his eyes widening at the hastily drawn sigil now freshly decorating the inside of the door in blood, at the rivulets of red that were now freely dripping from Cas’ hand to the floor. Cas held a large knife covered in dark, inset runes. Instead of slamming his hand against the door, he plunged the knife into the wood. A loud, concussive noise exploded through the building, shaking the foundations.

Sam screamed in agony, clutching at his head, and Dean reached for him. He almost made contact before light began streaming out of Sam’s eyes and mouth. Sam’s screams went on for several long moments, the light building until it was blinding and Dean had to look away. It built for just long enough that Dean felt the hope build within him that maybe Castiel had done it, maybe Sam was free.

Abruptly, the screaming stopped and the light died. Dean turned back, frantic to know if Sam was okay. He stood still, rigid, with eyes and mouth shut, and Dean reached up, placed his hands on Sam’s shoulder and face, and gruffly asked, “Sammy?”

Sam’s eyes flew open, and his hand shot forward; it wrapped around Dean’s neck and slammed him back down to the ground. Leaving him gagging around the pain, Lucifer turned around and walked back over to a visibly shaken Cas. He moved in close and stopped, and Cas let the knife fall to the floor, forgotten.

“Now that,” Lucifer growled out hoarsely, his voice filled with reluctant admiration, “that was impressive, my brother.” He smiled tenderly and stepped forward, forcing Cas to back up into the door. Lucifer ran his hand down the side of Cas’ face before bringing it forward to linger over Cas’ lips. Lucifer leaned in, close and intimate, lips almost touching his fingers. With a harsh intake of breath, Cas shrank back, shutting his eyes to block out the sight. “But,” Lucifer whispered with satisfaction, “I… still... win.”

Dean filled with cold dread, and the fear held him paralyzed as he fought to push it back.

Slipping his hands down to run the pads of his fingers delicately over Cas’ neck, Lucifer pressed his lips to Cas’. Eyes flying open in alarm, a pathetic mewling sound escaped from Cas’ mouth. Cas’ hands squeezed between their bodies and futilely tried to push Lucifer away. He didn’t even shift, an immovable weight that crowded against Cas ever closer, pinning him to the door.

It wasn’t Sam. It wasn’t. Yet the sight of him pressed intimately against his friend made Dean’s heart race in anger. Anger at Cas, not Sam, a possessive rage that made it hard to think straight. That guilty rage collided heavily with the knowledge that, if Sam remembered any of this, if he remembered forcing himself on Cas, it would devastate him. This, on top of his failure with Ruby, could very well destroy him.

The anger was freeing, but Dean fought to keep himself crouched in the L of wall and floor. He knew trying to get between them would accomplish nothing, but every fiber of his being screamed at him to _do something_.

Sam… _Lucifer_ finally pulled back, revealing Cas’ face flush with shock. “Please,” Cas begged, his voice haggard and worn. “Please, you won’t get me on your side by doing this.”

“On the contrary, I think this is exactly how I get you. You’ll never let yourself truly fall without a shove.” Lucifer smiled sadly, “Prove me wrong. I know you loved me once, Castiel. Give yourself permission to do so again. It doesn’t have to be this way.”

“No.” Cas’ denial was fierce.

“So be it,” Lucifer said coldly, gripping the sides of Cas’ face and pulling him into a harsh kiss.

Cas swung his uninjured fist against Lucifer’s side again and again, beating it bloody as his mouth was ravaged, but Lucifer didn’t even seem to notice. Eventually Cas let his fist fall with a pained sob and slumped in Lucifer’s grasp, his posture defeated. Lucifer finally released his lips to glide over Cas’ face with all the attentiveness of a besotted lover.

There was no specific plan formed in Dean’s head, he’d never even decided to stand up, but he suddenly found himself grasping a knife and running it along his arm without care. The blood immediately welled up, streaking down his arm in long, vivid lines. He tossed the knife to the floor and plunged his fingers into the wound. Painting the lines from memory as fast as he could, he prayed, literally, that he got them right. Even if this wouldn’t work on Lucifer, he knew it would on Cas, and Lucifer couldn’t finish what he’d started if Cas wasn’t here. At least… not with Cas, and that was really all that mattered.

“No!” Cas cried behind him. Dean heard movement, so he sped up, frantic to finish the symbols before Lucifer noticed. Something thudded behind him hard enough to shake the building as he finished the last line; he raised his hand, but before he could trigger what he’d drawn, the wall cracked, destroying the work he’d done.

The room started to spin as he gasped for breath against the weight of sudden despair. He braced his arms against the damaged wall, trying not to just give in. He’d been so fucking close. Sam stepped up behind him, pulling him back against his chest; Dean relaxed into the familiar hands. When Sam wrapped his arms around Dean and ran his hands over Dean’s arms, Dean felt the fire of his open, bleeding wound start to dissipate.

“That wasn’t very smart, Dean.” The calmly spoken words sounded forlorn and flat, missing all of Sam’s usual inflections, and Dean jerked in Lucifer’s grasp, reality coming back in a cold rush. He tried to tear himself free, but Sam’s arms bound him like a vise, squeezing so tightly his bones ached.

Lucifer pulled the bandage away from Dean’s neck with his teeth. He nuzzled in against the still healing wound, probing with his tongue at the stitches holding it closed. Dean shivered against the invasive touch that should have felt wrong but didn’t.

“Sam’s in here with me, Dean. How far he falls is really up to you,” Lucifer murmured against his neck, tone laced with artificial compassion.

“Leave him alone,” Dean whispered, shivering as something inside of him broke.

Lucifer spun him around and slammed him back against the wall. A hungry, possessive look colored his features as he demanded, “Do not move from this spot, and do not fail to bear witness.” The voice and carriage were Sam’s this time, but the words were not, and Dean’s chest tightened with despair.

Lucifer backed away from Dean to pick Cas up from where he lay. Dean stared at the wreckage of the door and part of the wall that Lucifer had apparently thrown Cas through and wondered where all the people were. It was a hole-in-the-wall place, but it hadn’t been completely empty. Cas looked dazed and out of it as he was man-handled to the bed. Lucifer moved over him, the predator shining through, slowly removing his jacket and belt, clearly conscious of the show he was putting on for Dean. Cas’ trousers were next, and Lucifer’s focus narrowed in as he removed them, his gaze intense, almost adoring.

Dean wanted to rip the expression from Sam’s face, wanted to scream at the callous way that Cas was slowly being exposed in front of him, at the way that simple action tore away the dignity that Cas usually wore like a shield.

Lucifer pushed Cas forward to fall face down on the bed, placed a knee on the bed next to him and leaned in, grabbing Cas’ shirt. He ripped it open easily to expose the long line of Cas’ back, so he could begin laying kisses tenderly across the skin. Lucifer brought his hands in to join the play of lips. They caressed over the skin, circling down lazily to kneed into Cas’s ass, and Cas started to come alive, shifting uneasily under the attention, his small, confused whimpers deafening to Dean’s ears.

“Cas, fucking do something,” Dean whispered. His voice was barely audible, but he didn’t really have any hope at this point that his pleas would accomplish anything. His one best shot had been blocked when Cas had drawn Lucifer’s attention by calling out. Dean sank to his knees, unable to bear his own weight anymore, no matter what his brother had commanded… Lucifer had commanded.

Lucifer reached down and pulled Cas’ boxers down. Cas panicked; the word, “No,” tore from his throat as he tried to crawl out from under Sam’s body.

His hands on Cas’ shoulders, Lucifer slid up his body to say menacingly, “Cas, if you don’t relax and stop fighting me, I’ll take Dean in your place.”

“Fuck you!” Dean yelled, his heart breaking as Cas immediately relaxed down onto the bed.

Pulling Cas up onto his knees, Lucifer grabbed the bottle of oil Sam had used on Dean earlier and poured it liberally over them both. Dean found himself praying to a god who never fucking answered, praying for something, anything… but this time was no different; no answer came. Not even for Castiel. Lucifer surged forward, impaling Cas’ body with his own, and Cas screamed with the voice of the damned.

Sam… _Sam_ moaned over Cas, whispered, “Castiel,” with a sigh, and Dean felt his insides twist around and try to crawl out of his throat.

“No,” Dean managed to choke out past the despair that threatened to strangle him. All that time in hell and he’d never really managed the art of watching others suffer, not without burying his soul so far down even he couldn’t find it. He wasn’t prepared this time. This wasn’t pain he was causing, but watching from the sidelines, unable to effect anything, was actually worse.

Sam moved slowly over Cas. The initial penetration was over and he was back to acting like a concerned lover. Cas had gone mostly silent, his face pressed against fisted hands and everything closed off except the small sounds forced from him as each new thrust sank home.

A quiet kind of anguish filled Dean, pushing his panic away and leaving him empty. An occasional tear slipping down his face was the only sign that he was still a participant in this macabre dance.

Sam slipped his hand around Cas’ body, wrapping it around flesh that slowly stiffened under his touch. Cas finally cried out once more, a tired, forsaken, “Please, God…” that stabbed Dean straight through the heart. He knew it was Lucifer, not Sam, but through the carnal lust being displayed on the bed, he’d lost the difference.

Cas went silent again, quiet tears that mirrored Dean’s own forced out anew with each slap of skin, with each sick, squelching thrust. On and on, until Dean couldn’t watch anymore, couldn’t watch the destruction of two of the most important beings in his life. He buried his head in his hands. Whatever part Cas had played in shoving him and Sam down this path, he couldn’t hang onto his anger over it any more, no more than he could keep his anger at Sam.

Cas yelled, and Dean’s head jerked up as Cas went rigid under Sam, both of them shuddering together as their orgasms hit; it was finally over. They collapsed together on the bed, harsh breaths quieting until the room was bathed in eerie silence.

Dean didn’t know what to do, what to say; the anticipation of Lucifer speaking once more, the waiting to hear Lucifer lay clear claim on Sam, was somehow worse than what he had just witnessed. He just sat there, panic and fear creeping insidiously through his bones and filling him with horror.

Cas shifted, whispered something in Aramaic and suddenly twisted around under Sam, his bloodied wrist flying toward Lucifer’s face. Dean wasn’t sure of the significance, but he found himself holding his breath, willing whatever last hurrah Cas had come up with to work. At the last moment, Lucifer reacted, blocking Cas’ hand with an easy grip.

“No,” Lucifer said, and for the first time anger and betrayal showed on his features. As he rose, he hauled Cas up using his firm hold on Cas’ hand and digging another into Cas’ shoulder. “You disappoint me, Castiel. Did you really think that I wouldn’t know the same broken piece of prophesy that you do?”

Cas closed his eyes, the last of his fight slipping away. “It was worth the chance,” he murmured.

Dean had thought his despair couldn’t get any worse. He’d been wrong.

“Well, you accomplished one thing,” Lucifer said, his quiet, self-satisfied smile coming back. “Samuel begs for oblivion even as we speak. He is mine.”

Dean leapt to his feet, a wordless shout of denial ripping from his throat. “Do something!” he yelled at Cas. Cas didn’t react, his eyes growing large before his head dropped to his chest in defeat.

Lucifer shifted his hand to Cas’ throat, forcing his fingers through the skin; he started to chant something, this time in a language not even remotely identifiable to Dean. Cas’ head snapped up. His eyes and mouth began to glow; his grace was being stripped from him.

 _Please_ , Dean thought desperately, _please, you need to keep fighting, Cas. Don’t let him win. You can’t_.

Dean could hear the snapping of bone, see the blood erupting from Cas’ skin, his body slowly being torn apart as the glow grew brighter until it was almost blinding in its intensity.

 _Use me_ , Dean thought, just before Cas’ body shattered, the force rocking the building with a loud boom that left a deafening silence in its wake. Lucifer dropped his head in sadness, clearly mourning Cas’ loss, granting Dean a macabre view of Sam, covered in blood and come and other bodily fluids.

 _We’ve lost. It’s over._ The last of Dean’s world crumbled to dust.

Light poured into Dean, arching through him and spilling out to fill him with an ecstasy more complete than anything he’d ever felt. His entire body went rigid as the energy played through him. It went on forever, but Lucifer barely had time to look up, and then it was over. Castiel was with him, inside of him; he knew it with a sudden certainty that left him breathless.

Castiel wrapped himself around Dean, offering a timeless comfort that Dean had never known he ached for. Even run through with anguish, warm affection cloaked over him, almost maternal in tone. _Have faith…_ the words flowed through his mind, tender and seductive all at once.

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but it wasn’t his idea, and he fought against it, freezing in place for just a moment. He felt a wave of fond exasperation sweep over him, and he lost the battle. “Sam,” he commanded, “You must fight him. Now.” His hand rose up and ripped the stitches out of his neck as his feet carried him across the room to stand in front of his brother.

Anger and cold righteous fury swept across Sam’s face. He reached out a hand, clearly intending to crush Dean into oblivion, but suddenly crumpled. A sob ripped from Sam’s throat as he brought his hands up to slam against his face in pain.

Castiel didn’t hesitate. Dean’s body surged forward, taking Sam’s face in both hands and smashing Sam’s mouth against his bleeding neck. A grim, hard feeling of satisfaction not his own swept through him as Sam’s lips locked over the cut to suck hungrily.

Sam’s hands circled around Dean, pulling him close, and in an instant that feeling of satisfaction morphed into righteous anger, freezing him in place. Dean fought against the rage that filled him, desperate to return the embrace. The struggle of wills took less than a moment before Dean felt Castiel force himself back, relinquishing a little of his control back to Dean.

Dean gratefully slipped his arms around his brother’s trembling body. He could feel the play of muscle under skin as Sam fought a desperate internal battle; clinging tightly, Dean willed his strength, willed everything he had, to his brother.

Sam’s breaths were coming out hard and fast around his frantic swallows and Dean counted each one a victory, each time praying for one more. Dean felt the moment Sam crumbled, felt Lucifer wrest back control, and Dean let him go, let him stumble back until he hit the far wall and slid down. “No!” Lucifer screamed through Sam’s mouth, his face a mask of fury and his eyes blazing, literally. Sam began to glow, light slipping out through his eyes and mouth and nose, through his every pore.

A wail of sound erupted, just like it had in the church, and Dean’s hands flew up to cover his ears. Desperate to get to his brother, he ripped a hand down and crawled forward until he reached Sam and could throw himself bodily over his brother. Sam convulsed under him, and he wrapped himself around his brother, protecting Sam or sacrificing himself, he wasn’t really sure which and didn’t really care.

The light and sound continued to build into discordant pulses of agony, until Dean thought they were all going to fly apart, and then suddenly… he was free, floating in a void without sound or sight or feeling.

He floated there for a while, fear for Sam the only thing still anchoring him to reality. Suddenly Castiel’s familiar voice broke the silence, “Dean…”

Dean didn’t know what to say. Said the only word he could get to come to his head… “Why?”

“It is written, ‘the messenger shall give sacrifice of himself as an offering for sin, and so shall return the outcast to whence he was cast down.’ Tell Sam it had to be done, Dean.”

“Castiel…” Dean breathed into the void, his tone a warning.

“We will meet again...”

“No! You don’t get to disappear on me this time, Cas. I don’t give a damn about some prophesy, and you sure as hell didn’t have to just bend over for it. Why the hell would you let Lucifer do that to you? Do that to Sam?”

There was a long silence, Dean’s anger building and spilling over and filling up the empty places until it pulsed around him.

“Dean…” Castiel flowed around him, flowed through him, tentative at first before growing bolder, a calming balm that left only overwhelming sadness and loss in its wake. “I needed to let Lucifer claim me, to own a piece of my soul, or the blood would not have carried the power it needed to.”

“No,” Dean hurled out his rejection, his vitriol aimed as much at the so-called God who had made the rules as at Cas.

His words were buffered by a wall of calm, unwavering acceptance and Dean’s anger lessened, dimming to a painful throb. Castiel’s presence wavered, started to slip away, whispered, “Thank you, Dean. I’m not sure, now, that it would have worked if you had not offered what you did… but… know that I am sorry…”

“He’s going to remember what happened, isn’t he?” Dean asked bitterly.

Aching sorrow flowed over him once more, followed quickly by a wave of affection. “I need… time. But we will see each other again, Dean...”

The words echoed through the void, growing softer and softer, until they faded to nothing.

He came back to himself in a rush; Castiel was gone. His absence left a yawning, aching hole in his soul that caught him off guard. He would have expected to be happy to have his body back, to be resentful of being forced to share something so personal, but Castiel had been… Even with the monumental weight and presence of what Castiel was, there had been something overwhelmingly comforting about not being alone.

But he wasn’t alone, not really. His body was wrapped tightly around Sam’s, and he cradled Sam’s head against his chest. Harsh, wracking sobs ripped through his brother’s body, but Dean felt overwhelming relief in the knowledge that the broken man in his arms was truly his brother. Suddenly and desperately possessive, he pulled Sam in closer, the need to comfort and be comforted inextricably tied into his sense of self.

Lucifer was gone. Anything else they could face together.

~o0O0o~

 **The Prophesy**

 _And the righteous man,  
from whom began the coming darkness,  
shall be the vessel of an angel of the LORD._

 _Righteous in his fury,  
does he choose the agent of the wrathful LORD,  
the Prince of Darkness shall pervert no more  
the sons of Adam in the bitter Days of Judgment._

 _Righteous instead by the light of grace,  
he shall open his being to the messenger of the LORD  
who has been faithful and true,  
who has loved all which HE loves and shunned all which HE shuns._

 _Blesséd of the loving LORD,  
the messenger shall give sacrifice of himself as an offering for sin  
such that even the wretched vessel of the exile  
will undertake the will of the LORD.  
So shall the messenger return the outcast to whence he was first cast down.  
_

 _~The Book of Echoes 19:21-23_


  
 **~The End…**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>   
> **Author’s Notes:** Well, the ending isn’t quite what I expected it to be. Angst whore that I am, I kind of want there to be some epic comfort for all three boys after all that hurt… So I’m kind of torn between wanting to write a simple epilogue (my original plan), writing a series of time stamps, or writing a full blown sequel… Feel free to prompt me in the comments and tell me what you all think!  
>  **Thanks:** To my lovely beta: [](http://snarkgoddess.livejournal.com/profile)[**snarkgoddess**](http://snarkgoddess.livejournal.com/) (who deserves special kudos for helping me despite not doing wincest, and who made me squee loudly when she said it was hot anyway). She’s an absolutely amazing beta (even though I sometimes wanted to scream, “Isn’t it good enough?!”), and an awesome friend, and this story wouldn’t be anywhere near as good without her. She kept me writing even when I didn’t want to, and she demanded perfection, but I’m pretty damned proud of the end result.
> 
> She also wrote the incredibly awesome “scripture” at the end. It totally rocks – just what I wanted!
> 
> Also, to [](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/profile)[**rivestra**](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/) and [](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/profile)[**raggedy_edge**](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/) who not only were fabulous cheerleaders, but who also stepped in at the last minute to give me much needed final read-throughs and beta feedback. I am truly fortunate to have such fabulous friends. I don’t know what I would do without you!
> 
> Of course, I also have to thank [](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/profile)[**amara_m**](http://amara-m.livejournal.com/) , without whom I never would have had the guts to sign up for the kink big bang in the first place, or to write blood-play and D/s. I hope you like it, darling, this one’s for you.
> 
> Finally, I want to thank my awesome cheerleaders: [](http://denyce.livejournal.com/profile)[**denyce**](http://denyce.livejournal.com/) and [](http://macbyrne.livejournal.com/profile)[**macbyrne**](http://macbyrne.livejournal.com/) , who contributed ideas and squee and gave me pep-talks whenever I needed them.
> 
>  ** _I would have given up writing a long time ago if it wasn’t for all of you._ **
> 
> Kudos also need to go out to [](http://musingdarkly.livejournal.com/profile)[**musingdarkly**](http://musingdarkly.livejournal.com/) for the beautiful cover art. I love Lucifer’s wings coming out of the darkness… A very haunting image, darling.
> 
> And finally, to [](http://silentflux.livejournal.com/profile)[**silentflux**](http://silentflux.livejournal.com/) and the rest of the mods over at [](http://kink-bigbang.livejournal.com/profile)[**kink_bigbang**](http://kink-bigbang.livejournal.com/). Thanks for running a great challenge – there can never be too much kink, especially _epic_ kink!  
> 


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